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A  Cruise  Under  the  Crescent. 


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A   CRUISE 

Under  the  Crescent 

FROM  SUEZ  TO  SAN  MARCO 


BY 

Charles  Warren  Stoddard, 

Author  of  "South  Sea  Idyls."  etc. 


C 


Chicago  and  New  York: 
RAND.  McNALLY  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


Copyright,  1898,  by  Charles  Warren  Stoddard. 


513*;'5( 


TO  MY  BELOVED  SISTER. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I — From  Suez  to  San  Marco, 5 

II— At  the  Gateway  of  the  East, 13 

III — Going  up  to  Jerusalem 30 

IV — Impressions  of  Jerusalem, 54 

V —  In  the  Footsteps  of  our  Lord, 80 

VI— Damascus,  "  Pearl  of  the  East,"      ....  189 

VII—  From  Baalbek  to  Beirut 226 

VIII —  Glimpses  of  Asia  Minor, 239 

IX— Athens, 250 

X—  A  Cruise  in  the  Homeric  Sea, 259 

XI— Stamboul 279 

XII—  St.  Sophia, 306 

XIII— On  the  Bosporus 317 

XIV— Prinkipo 327 

XV— The  Sultan  goes  to  Mosque, 34i 

XVI— Out  of  the  East, 35i 


A  Cruise  Under  the  Crescent 


FROM  SUEZ  TO  SAN  MARCO 


HE  "flight  into  Egj'pt"  having 
come  to  an  end,  we  folded 
our  wings  for  a  few  days 
only,  and  then  spread  them 
again,  with  our  faces  turned 
due  north. 

Thank  heaven,  there  were 
other  worlds  to  conquer; 
there  always  are ;  this  is  what 
makes  life  worth  living. 

We  booked  for  Ismailia  via 
Zagazig,  leaving  Cairo  by  the 
morning  express  in   a  high 
wind  that  was  cool  and  re- 
'^"^"^^  freshing.  All  the  journey  was 

a  kind  of  rapid  review  of  the  Egyptian  experi- 
ences.    Every  palm  and  mimosa,  every  Arab 

s 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


village,  every  Sheik's  tomb,  with  its  low  white 
dome,  and  the  strips  of  water  where  the  sakias 
were  slowly  turning,  and  the  shadoofs  were 
swinging  up  and  down,  brought  to  mind  remi- 
niscences of  the  last  four  months.  It  was 
delightful,  in  the  same  way  that  the  remem- 
brance of  something  great  and  good  accom- 
plished is  a  delight.  Even  the  two  hours'  wait 
at  the  hot  and  dusty  station  of  Zagazig,  where 
we  saw  the  train  come  in  from  Alexandria  and 
set  out  for  Suez,  was  less  of  a  trial  than  it  might 
have  been  had  I  not  ever  in  my  mind  the 
thought  that  in  a  few  hours  more  I  should  see 
my  last  of  this  glorious  land  of  romantic  and 
eventful  history.  We  all  refreshed  ourselves 
-=_  at  Zagazig,  drawing  our 
"'"'  feet  up  under  us  on  the 
deep  divans,  and  partaking 
of  the  luncheon  brought  from 
Cairo.  Three  venerable  Mus- 
sulmans were  seated  on  the 
.^  divan  opposite.  A  retinue 
of  servants  stood  by  and 
obeyed  the  slightest  signal 
of  their  masters.  Many 
fine-looking  men  arrived,  kissed 
the  hands  of  these  gentlemen, 
made  profound  salams,  and  with 
a  very  few  words  withdrew, 
backing  out  of  the  room. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


7 


After  a  time,  one  of  the  distinguished  travel- 
ers sent  a  servant  into  the  sun  to  find  the 
way  to  Mecca,  and,  upon  his  return,  a  carpet 
was  spread  upon  the  floor,  and  the  pompous 
old  gentleman  began  his  noon-day  prayer  in 
front  of  a  heap  of  luggage  that  happened  to 
be  piled  against  the  wall  on  the  Mecca  side  of 
the  apartment.  Young  Arabs  sold  matches  on 
the  platform  of  the  station,  wanted  to  "black 
your  boots"  in  tolerable  English,  offered  bread, 
fruit  and  soda-water  for  sale,  and  sought  to 
make  themselves  useful  by  seizing  upon  every 
valise  and  carpet-sack  within  reach.  Again  we 
entered  the  train,  and  set  out  for  Ismailia.  We 
were  very  soon  in  the  desert,  the  desert  that  at 
first  was  dotted  with  oases  and  then  grew  bare 
and  yellow,  rolling  its  long  billows  of  sand  to 
the  horizon  on  every  side.  The  heat  was 
intense ;  the  glare  of  the  sun  intolerable.  We 
all  grew  drowsy,  and  dropped  off  to  sleep  one 


after  another. 
Once  we  stopped  at 
a  station,  a  single 
house  in  the  solitude 


8  A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

of  sand,  where  some  few  officers  from  the 
barracks  over  the  ridge,  mounted  on  splendid 
horses,  stood  by  to  watch  our  arrival  and  de- 
parture. There  was  a  wine-room  at  this  station, 
filled  with  curios  such  as  publicans  and  sinners 
delight  to  gather  —  a  motley  collection,  as 
interesting  as  it  was  unique.  Through  a  door 
in  the  rear  there  was  a  garden  walled  in  with 
a  fence  as  high  as  the  house.  It  was  a  surpris- 
ing contrast  to  the  desolation  that  lay  all  about 
us,  even  to  the  high  sand-drifts  blown  up 
against  the  fence.  But  you  have  only  to  water 
this  desert  and  it  blossoms  like  the  rose.  We 
reached  Ismailia  before  sunset ;  a  thriving  town 
on  Lake  Timsah,  about  half-way  between  Suez 
and  Port  Said.  It  is  a  garden  that  may  yet 
become  famous  as  the  perennial  paradise  of 
Egypt.  Its  climate  is  much  better  than  that 
of  Cairo.  The  lake  through  which  the  canal 
flows  aifords  more  agfreeable  salt-water  baths 
than  can  be  found  anywhere  else  on  the  coast. 
It  is  bountifully  supplied  with  fresh  water  by 
the  "sweet  water  canal,"  and  the  roofs  of  the 
cottages  that  rise  above  the  dense  and  delicious 
foliage,  the  broad  avenues,  the  baths,  the  blue 
lake  and  the  desert  hills,  with  their  marvelous 
tints  of  gold  and  gray,  make  it  a  delight  to  the 
eye.  It  has  already  attracted  a  goodly  number 
of  health-seekers,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  ultimately  become    a    fashionable 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.  9 

resort  for  those  who  would  escape  the  bitter 
winters,  and  at  the  same  time  find  diversion 
in  the  novelty  of  Oriental  life.  A  long  wharf 
juts  into  Lake  Timsah  at  Ismailia.  After  wait- 
ing on  the  pleasure  of  a  ticket-agent  for  more 
than  an  hour  he  leisurely  arrived  on  a  donkey 
and  received  us  with  the  calm  resignation 
peculiar  to  the  Moslem.  We  boarded  a  steam 
launch,  by  no  means  large  enough  to  accommo- 
date us,  and  then,  packed  in  a  close,  stuffy 
cabin,  or  sitting  together  on  the  windy  deck, 
we  rushed  through  the  canal  at  a  headlong 
pace  from  sunset  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  most  miserable  community  imaginable. 
The  lake,  through  which  we  entered  the  canal, 
was  soon  crossed,  and  when  we  found  ourselves 
skimming  over  the  deep  blue  waters,  with  high 
sand  banks  on  each  side  of  us,  we  all  looked 
about  us  with  intense  curiosity,  for  it  was  our 
first  sight  of  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  modem 
world.  As  far  as  we  could  see,  the  canal  was 
as  straight  as  an  arrow.  The  high  banks,  slop- 
ing to  the  water,  along  the  edge  of  which  grow 
a  few  hardy  shrubs,  seemed  to  draw  together 
at  the  further  end.  The  width  at  the  water- 
line  in  the  deep  cuts  is  190  feet,  the  depth  26 
feet;  the  total  length  100  miles.  It  grew 
monotonous  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  — 
the  interminable  banks  like  gray  walls  away 
above  our  heads.     There  was  nothing  to  eat 


lo       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

or  drink,  save  what  chanced  to  be  remaining 
in  our  hampers.     The  cabin  was  too  small  to 
smoke  in ;  the  wind  on  deck  was  whistling  like 
a  hurricane,  and,   therefore,   we  all   subsided 
into  a  state  of  abject  misery.     At  that  moment, 
the  important  facts  concerning  the  construc- 
tion of  the  canal  —  facts  which  I  will  not  recall 
to  your  memory  at  this  late  day,  were  not  of 
slight  interest  to  us.     The  moon  rose  over  the 
top  of  the  embankment,  and  amused  us  for  a 
little  time  with  a  new  effect.     But  the  canal  is 
horribly  gloomy  at  night.     It  is  like  sailing 
through  a  gap  between  the  two  hemispheres. 
By  and  by  we  raised  a  ship,  a  monster,  that 
towered  above  our  toy  steamer    and   seemed 
to    touch   the   stars  with  its    tapering  masts. 
That  ship  appeared  to  fill  the  canal,   for  the 
long  high  banks  closed  in  beyond  her. 
We  saw  the  black  hull  and  the  gleam- 
ing  lights;   we  heard   the  blustering 
orders  that  were  howled  out  on  board, 
resounding  above  the  roar  of  the  wind 
in  the  rigging.     I  wondered  how  we  were 
to  pass  her,  and  why  she  did  not  caution 
us  to  keep  out  of  the  way.     We  did  slacken 
our  pace  somewhat,  and  then  stole  under  her 
huge   shadow  unnoticed.      She    thought  no 
more  of  us  than  if  we  had  been  a 
water-bug.    She  was  very  busy 
t^lSt?  K^  /f^    trying  to  keep  herself  in   the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        n 

middle  of  the  canal  as  she  slowly  drifted  toward 
Suez.  Seven  ships  lay  in  our  track  that  night 
—  one  of  these  a  ship  of  the  line — and  all  seven 
of  them  utterly  ignored  us,  though  we  were 
the  regular  express  boat  from  Ismailia  to  Port 
Said.  We  came  to  a  house  presently,  a  long, 
low,  wooden  house,  painted  white ;  about  half- 
way up  the  bank;  wooden  steps  led  up  the 
slope  to  the  veranda.  There  were  vines  creep- 
ing over  the  roof,  and  flowers  growing  in  the 
garden  and  perfuming  the  night ;  but  beyond 
it  and  above  it  rose  the  everlasting  bank,  and 
we  could  see  nothing  to  the  right  or  the  left 
but  the  dark,  narrow,  straight  gap,  with  its 
deep  waters  ebbing  noiselessly  from  sea  to  sea. 
Coffee  awaited  us  at  this  station — coffee  that 
tasted  like  lukewarm  date-water,  and  for  this 
we  paid  dearly.  And  here  we  learned  that  the 
Khedive  had  depreciated  the  currency  of  the 
country  at  the  rate  of  two  piastres  (five  cents) 
to  every  four  franc  piece ;  other  coins  retain 
their  customary  value  until  the  Khedive  has 
need  of  further  money,  when  he  will  probably 
levy  a  new  tax,  after  his  own  fashion.  At 
midnight,  we  entered  the  harbor  of  Port  Said. 
The  moon  was  brilliant,  and  the  white  sandy 
streets  of  the  little  city  looked  as  if  they  were 
covered  with  a  light  fall  of  snow.  Fortunately, 
there  were  beds  to  be  had  at  the  Hotel  de 
France,   though  the    town  was  flooded    with 


12       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

pilgrims  on  their  way  to  Jerusalem,  who 
had  congregated  here  to  take  the  steamers 
that  touch  at  this  port  two  or  three  times  a 
week. 


II. 


AT  THE  GATEWAY  OF  THE  EAST, 


Pilgrim  Ship!  There  she 
lay,  off  Port  Said,  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Suez  Canal;  a 
big  Russian  steamer,  that 
came  in  from  Alexandria  at  sun- 
rise, and  was  to  sail  for  Jaffa  at 
sunset,  taking  a  great  multitude  of  devotees 
along  with  her. 

Port  Said  lies  just  above  high- water  mark ; 
a  flat,  sandy  settlement,  that  blisters  in  the 
sun,  and  withers  in  the  sea- winds,  and  has  every 
drop  of  its  drinking  water  pumped  over  from 
Ismailia,  fifty  miles  away.  But,  withal,  it  is 
a  healthful  spot,  and  a  capital  resort  for  sports- 
men, who  find  pelicans,  flamingoes,  herons, 
and  multitudinous  wild-fowl  in  the  neighboring 
lake — that  jewel  strung  upon  the  silver  thread 


k 


14       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

of  the  Canal.  About  the  third  hour  in  the 
afternoon,  half  the  town  seemed  to  be  drifting 
to  the  water-side;  the  other  half  offered  its 
services  as  porter  —  as  if  it  were  expected  that 
no  man  in  his  right  mind  would  stay  on  shore 
a  moment  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary. 

When  I  boarded  the  steamer,  her  deck  was 
swarming  with  Orientals,  and  the  spectacle 
was  positively  bewildering;  strange  races, 
gathered  from  strange  lands,  reclined  upon 
thick  rugs  among  cushions  that  fitted  every 
angle  of  their  bodies,  while  they  smoked  the 
perpetual  nargileh.  They  talked,  smoked,  and 
sang  a  good  part  of  the  night  in  the  full  flood 
of  the  moon,  with  the  swish  of  the  water  under 
our  keel  for  a  running  accompaniment.  The 
potent  odor  of  garlic  that  graced  the  frequent 
repast  was  lost  in  the  more  potent  effluvia  of 
burning  hasheesh ;  but  there  were  other  smells 
not  to  be  forgotten,  and  scarcely  to  be  for- 
given, such  as  are  the  bane  of  all  sea-travel  on 
that  much  betraveled  coast. 

It  was  after  mid-Lent,  when  half  the  world 
goes  to  Jerusalem  for  Holy  Week  and  Easter ; 
so  that  we  were  in  very  truth  pilgrims  and 
strangers.  Many  a  poor  fellow  who  climbed 
over  the  ship's  side  while  we  lay  in  the  mouth 
of  the  Canal  found  he  had  arrived  too  late  by 
an  hour  or  two,  and  now  his  bed  must  needs 
be  made   in  whatever  obscure  comer  might 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        15 

Still  be  left  unoccupied;  he  was  exposed  to 
drafts  and  the  spray  that  sifted  over  us  from 
time  to  time,  and  all  the  night  his  sleep  was 
disturbed  by  the  passage  of  officers  and  crew, 
who  stepped  or  stumbled  over  him  at  brief 
intervals. 

Some  of  the  wise  old  pilgrims  were  on  board 
almost  as  soon  as  the  ship  came  to  anchor  at 
Port  Said;  having  chosen  the  best  possible 
quarters  for  themselves,  they  spread  their  car- 
pets and  cushions,  and  literally  went  to  house- 
keeping, meanwhile  observing  the  despair  of 
the  late  comers  with  the  placid  philosophy 
of  the  Oriental.  Their  pipes  were  lighted,  their 
coffee  brought  them  by  their  faithful  slaves; 
they  seemed  to  lack  nothing,  yet  they  were 
deck  passengers,  who  paid  less  than  a  third  of 
the  passage  money  that  brought  us  to  the  brink 
of  despair  in  the  close  and  overcrowded  cabin. 
Fortunately,  the  sun  that  set  on  us  at  Port  Said 
rose  on  us  at  Jaffa ;  and,  though  our  ship  was 
overladen,  and  positively  top-heavy,  so  that  at 
times  she  careened  fearfully,  the  sea  was  as 
glass ;  the  full  moon  made  night  glorious,  and 
we  held  our  course  right  bravely;  it  seemed 
almost  as  if  Providence  had  a  special  smile 
for  the  thousands  who  were  on  their  way  to 
Jerusalem  that  memorable  night. 

It  was  a  memorable  night.  I  woke  about 
two  in  the  morning,  after  one  of  those  incoher- 


1 6       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


ent  dreams  that  are  apt  to  precede  an  event. 
The  hour  was  wonderful,  the  air  delicious  but 
moist,  as  the  sea-air  always  is.  The  full  moon 
flooded  the  deep;  a  broad  wake  of  glittering 
silver  rolled  in  the  midst  of  the  violet-tinted 
waves.  Every  soul  slept,  or  seemed  to  be  sleep- 
ing, wrapped  in  blankets  like  mummies,  and 
stowed  side  by  side.  Even  the  few  watchers 
on  deck  stood  motionless  as  statues.  Egypt 
lay  all  behind  me ;  the  overpowering  splendor 
of  the  Nile  recurred  to  me  as  a  gorgeous  dream 
from  which  I  had  scarcely  yet  awakened.  I 
began  to  realize  that  on  the  morrow,  God  will- 
ing, we  should  all  set  foot  on  sacred  soil  at 
Jaffa  —  the  antique  Joppa,  said  by  Pliny  to 
have  been  standing  before  the  flood; — Jaffa, 
on  whose  rock-bound  shore  Andromeda  was 
chained  when  Perseus  flew  to  rescue  her.  St. 
Jerome  says:  "I  saw  the  re- 
mains of  the  chains  wherewith 
Andromeda  was  bound  to  the 
rock  until  delivered  by  Perseus 
from  the  sea-monster." 
Through  the  Roman  period, 
and  down  to  the  close  of  the 
1 6th  century,  these  chains  were 
treasured  and  exhibited  in  Jaffa. 
I  dozed  again ;  by  and  by  an 
unusual  commotion  in  the  ship 
awakened  me,  and,  looking  out 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


17 


through  my  small  dim  sidelight,  I  saw  the 
saffron-tinted  East,  with  its  luminous  sea  and 
sky  divided  by  a  line  of  shadowy  hills ;  shadowy 
indeed  they  were  and  empurpled,  touched  here 
and  there  with  the  faintest  radiance  —  the 
promises  of  dawn;  then  my  heart  cried  out: 
"How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the 
feet  of  him  that  bringeth  good  tidings!"  In 
the  midst  of  that  joyous  cry  the  sun  rose  and 
filled  the  world  with  light — it  was  my  first 
glimpse  of  the  Holy  Land. 

Jaffa !  Abb6  Geramb  declares  that  Jaffa — or 
Joppa,  if  you  prefer  it — was  so  called  from 
Japheth,  the  son  of  Noah,  who  came  down  from 
Ararat  in  the  track  of  the  subsiding  flood, 
and  founded  a  city  that  is  to-day  one  of  the 
most  interesting  and  best-abused  in  the  world. 

I  wonder  why  so  many  travelers 
feel  justified  in  snubbing  Jaffa? 
The  traffic  of  half  a  hemisphere 
drifts  to  this  little  port,  and  is 
borne  from  ship  to  shore  in  the 
arms  of  Stalwart  Arabs.     And 
what  a  history  it  has !  It  was  to 
Jaffa  that  Hiram,  King  of  Tyre, 
sent  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  "in 
floats, ' '  for  the  building  of  Solo- 
mon's   Temple.     Here   Jonah, 
when  he  "rose  up  to  flee  from 
the  presence  of  the  Lord,  .... 


i8       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

found  a  ship  going  to  Tarshish ;  so  he  paid  the 
fare  thereof,  and  went  down  into  it, ' '  while  the 
sea-monster  lay  in  wait  for  him  upon  the  verge 
of  the  horizon.  Here  St.  Peter  saw  the  vision 
of  things  common  and  unclean,  and  Tabitha 
was  raised  from  the  dead. 

Jaffa  has  lived  a  thousand  lives,  and  died  a 
thousand  deaths.  It  has  been  taken  and 
retaken  again  and  again ;  has  been  reduced  to 
a  mere  cluster  of  reed-huts ;  built  up  anew,  and 
walled  about,  until,  to-day  a  city  of  eight 
thousand  souls,  it  has  outgrown  its  original 
limits,  has  a  thriving  colony  of  Germans  in  one 
suburb,  and  had  a  colony  of  Americans  in 
another  once  upon  a  time ;  but  that  enterprise 
was  not  successful. 

Jaffa  figures  in  the  campaigns  of  Sennacherib, 
the  Maccabees,  the  Roman  Cestius,  Vespasian, 
Saladin,  Safaddin,  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  the 
Knights  of  St,  John,  and  Napoleon  I. 

These  reflections,  founded  upon  the  diligent 
conning  of  numerous  text-books  of  travel,  were 
uppermost  in  my  mind  when  our  anchor 
plunged  into  the  waves  that  wash  the  walls  of 
Jaffa,  and  the  chain  whizzed  after  it  with  the 
most  welcome  music  known  to  the  ear  of  the 
fagged  voyager.  Every  soul  was  astir,  jostling 
his  neighbor  impetuously,  rolling  his  luggage 
or  his  cigarette  with  uncommon  enthusiasm, 
and    hailing    the    bright    morning    and    the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        19 

blossoming  shore  with  exclamations  of  delight. 
Jaffa  was  in  all  its  glory — a  pyramid  of  flat 
roofs  and  white  walls  girdled  by  a  flashing  sea. 
Between  us  and  the  shore  a  broken  reef 
gnashed  its  teeth  and  covered  itself  with  foam. 
Throiigh  the  jaws  of  this  reef  we  were  all  to 
pass  in  boats  that  danced  upon  the  waves  like 
corks,  and  coquetted  with  the  steamer  for  an 
hour  or  more  before  they  got  well  to  work. 

Jaffa  has  no  harbor  and  no  dock ;  it  is  not  an 
uncommon  fate  for  the  steamers  that  arrive 
frequently  during  the  week  to  be  driven  off 
shore  by  unfavorable  weather;  in  which  case 
all  their  pilgrim  passengers  are  taken  up  the 
coast  and  down  again,  with  the  hope  of  making 
land  in  due  course  of  time.  We  were  con- 
gratulated upon  our  good  fortune  in  being  able 
to  start  for  the  shore  as  soon  as  the  exasper- 
ating boat-boys  could  be  brought  to  reasonable 
terms.  It  was  an  affair  of  much  bargaining, 
pleading,  threatening;  for  there  are  no  fixed 
prices  in  that  delectable  land.  It  was,  to  my 
mind,  a  matter  of  very  great  uncertainty  also, 
inasmuch  as  we  heard  that  a  boat  had  been 
dashed  to  pieces  on  the  reef  only  a  week 
previous,  and  five  unlucky  souls  sent  to  their 
reckoning  betimes. 

A  constant  stream  of  barges,  great  and 
small,  passed  to  and  fro ;  we  knew  by  the  wild 
shouts  of  the  oarsmen  when  they  had  shot  the 


30       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


reef  in  safety ;  we  knew  by  the  frantic  gesticu- 
lations of  the  Arabs  in  the  returning  boats 
that  they  were  ready  for  another  bout  at  a  bar- 
gain; and  so  two  or  three  hours  passed  by, 
while  the  sun  grew  hot,  the  fragrance  of  orange 
groves  was  wafted  over  the  sea  to  us,  and  we 
came  to  terms  at  last. 

We  dropped  into  one  of  the  boats  at  the  lucky 
moment  when  she  swung  up  to  the  ship's 
ladder  on  the  crest  of  a  wave;  gathered  our 
luggage  imto  us,  berated  the  half -naked  boat- 
men for  their  gfreed  in  seek- 
ing to  encumber  us  with 
more  passengers  than 
seemed  to  us  desirable 
or  safe,  and  then,  head- 
ing for  the  water-gate  of 
Jaffa,  we  bounded  over 
{  the  waves  in  splendid 
1 1  style,  making  a  bril- 
liant passage  of  the 
reef,  with  just  a  dash 
of  spray  in  our  faces, 
and  a  crash  of 
billows  thun- 
dering in  our 
ears.  Ten 
minutes  lat- 
er we  swung 
up   to   the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        21 

slippery  rocks  at  the  threshold  of  the  water- 
gate,  where  a  dragoman  welcomed  us  in  good 
English,  and  directed  us  to  the  great  Latin 
convent  close  at  hand. 

Perhaps  the  confusion  at  the  water-gate, 
coupled  with  the  demand  for  passports,  and 
the  din  of  voices,  drove  from  my  mind  for  the 
time  being  every  thought  of  the  land  I  had  at 
last  reached  in  safety, — at  least  I  must  confess 
that  my  first  thought  was  of  shelter  and  my 
second  of  refreshment;  for  we  had  all  been 
fasting  during  the  last  fourteen  hours  and  more. 

A  little  company  sought  the  door  of  the  con- 
vent, and  beat  long  and  loud  for  admittance ;  it 
was  like  trying  to  take  a  fortress  with  one's 
fists,  but  we  took  it  at  last.  A  gprave,  good- 
natured  soul  opened  the  door,  and  led  the  way 
through  deep,  dark  courts;  up  dingy  stairways; 
along  gloomy  corridors;  over  flying  galleries 
that  joined  house-top  to  house-top,  and  made 
the  huge  building  accessible  in  every  part, 
though  it  were  vain  to  think  of  finding  one's 
way  about  alone. 

This  convent  is  capable  of  sheltering  a  thou- 
sand pilgrims ;  it  is  often  filled ;  this  is  pretty 
sure  to  be  the  case  about  Easter,  when  the 
pious  pilgrims  to  the  Holy  City  find  Jaffa  the 
most  convenient  port  of  entry  or  of  exit. 
Rooms  were  discovered  away  up  on  one  of  the 
high  terraces, — large,  airy  rooms,  with  groined 


2  2        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

ceilings,  and  deep  windows  grated  like  prison- 
cells.  Crucifixes  and  holy  pictures  hung  upon 
the  walls;  the  beds  were  narrow  but  clean,  the 
floors  tiled  and  well  swept.  This  was  indeed 
solid  comfort  after  our  cramped,  ill-smelling 
quarters  on  ship-board. 

The  sea  broke  under  the  walls  of  the  mon- 
astery far,  far  below  us,  and  its  music  filled 
every  part  of  the  great,  rambling  building. 
Oh,  how  we  laughed  at  our  recent  perplexities, 
and  congratulated  ourselves  upon  being  so 
finely  housed !  Four  Franciscan  monks  direct 
the  army  quartered  under  their  charitable  roof. 
It  is,  indeed,  charitable ;  for  those  who  are  able 
to  pay  for  shelter  and  refreshment  give  what- 
soever seemeth  to  them  fit,  while  those  who 
are  poor  come  and  go  without  money  and  with- 
out price. — Let  it  be  borne  in  mind  that  there 
are  many  who  beg  their  way  to  Jerusalem, 
carrying  neither  purse,  nor  scrip,  nor  shoes,  but 
going  forth  as  lambs  among  wolves;  and,  for 
the  most  part,  it  seems  that  even  the  most 
lamb-like  is  capable  of  making  way  with  a 
wolf's  share  of  everything. 

At  breakfast  we  met  two  or  three  acquaint- 
ances, who  came  in  from  some  remote  comer 
of  the  monastery,  and  seemed  glad  to  find 
familiar  faces  in  so  strange  a  place.  One  is 
always  running  upon  friends  in  Eastern  travel : 
those   whom  one  has  known  at  hotels,  or  in 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        23 


ships'  cabins,  or  on  railway  trains — for  there 
are  railways  even  in  the  East.     Bread 
and  wine  and  eggs,  fresh  fruits,  and  a 
chat  with  the  friar — who  was  an  Italian, 
and  glad  to  speak  of  his  native  land — 
restored  our  souls.     On  all  sides  there 
was  a  perpetual    hum  of   voices;  we 
seemed  to  have  found  sanctuary  in  a 
beehive,  so  busy  was  everybody.      Pil- 
grims of  many  types,   of  many  tints, 
and  of  many  creeds, 
hurried   to  and    fro, 
making  ready  for  the 
journey    to    Jerusa- 
lem. An  Italian,  with 
a  barrel    organ   and 
two  performing  dogs, 
sat  in  the  court  await- 
ing   the    movements 
of  the  caravan  which 
it    was    his    purpose       ''% 
to  join.    Those  dogs  '^ 

seemed    weighed    down 
with  worldly  wisdom;  one 
lay  quietly  on  the  tight  sk 
master's  drum,  looking  very 
bored  with  life ;  the  other  sat 
and  eyed  the  turbulent  crowd 
calculating  the  chances 
that  latitude. 


MOSQUE  AT  JAFFA. 


24        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

A  chapel  door  stood  open  in  the  court.  Mass 
was  being  said  within,  but  the  crowd  was  so 
dense  that  it  was  quite  impossible  to  enter,  or 
even  to  approach  the  threshold.  People 
swathed  in  the  cumbrous  costumes  of  the  East 
bowed  before  the  altar,  and  swelled  the  chant 
in  a  confusion  of  tongues.  It  was  hard  to 
realize  that  the  veiled  women  and  the  turbaned 
men  were  Christians,  assisting  at  the  Sacrifice 
of  the  Mass,  which  was  there  offered  precisely 
as  it  is  daily  offered  in  our  far-off  homes.  To 
be  sure,  each  man  wore  his  fez  in  chapel,  and 
it  was  not  even  lifted  at  the  Elevation  of  the 
Host;  but  the  fez  is  never  lifted  from  the 
head  under  any  circumstances :  one  would 
as  soon  think  of  doffing  his  wig  as  taking 
off  his  fez  at  Mass. 

What  a  stroll  it  was  through  the  narrow 
streets  of  Jaffa, — the  streets  that  shoot 
under  the  houses  like  tunnels,  and  run 
up  and  down  hills  like  pairs  of  stairs! 
How  the  bazaars  glowed  with  colored 
stuffs,  and  made  the  air  sweet  with  per- 
fumes that  no  seal  can  imprison!  How 
the  water  splashed  and  gurgled  in  the  old 
Saracenic  fountain,  with  its  marble 
troughs,  and  its  golden  verses  from  the 
Koran!  What  a  chosen  spot  that  was, 
cooled  by  the  bubbling  water,  where  half 
a  dozen  streets  ran  together,  and  the  fan- 


THE   HARBOR   OF   JAFFA,  FROM    SIMON  THE  TANNER'S   HOUSE. 


tastic  bazaars  grouped  themselves  in  a  circle 
about  it,  under  the  shelter  of  vines  and  fig- 
trees  !  There  the  twang  of  traffic  is  softened 
in  the  smoke-clouds  of  the  nargilehs,  and 
every  bargain  soothed  with  numberless  small 
cups  of  coffee  as  black  as  ink  and  as  thick 
as  mud.  All  the  sunshine  of  the  East  pours 
upon  this  devoted  nook;  whoso  visits  Jaffa  has 
visited  it  in  vain  unless  he  knows  what  it  is  to 
linger  for  an  hour  within  the  charmed  circle  of 
25 


26        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

its  antique  fountain  over  against  the  Jerusalem 
Gate — a  gate  that  has  been  wrested  from  the 
hinges  long  since — listening  to  the  drone  of  the 
buyers  and  sellers ;  sipping  coffee  and  smoking 
Jehil;  while  he  dreams  of  the  Holy  City  beyond 
the  plains  of  Sharon,  over  and  beyond  the 
mountains  of  Ephraim, — dreams  of  Jerusalem, 
and  delays  his  departure  because  of  the  inex- 
pressible pleasure  of  that  dream. 

I  wonder  if  it  is  really  the  house  of  Simon 
the  tanner  that  overhangs  the  sea?  Of  course, 
we  went  to  spy  it  out.  A  Syrian  woman,  with 
her  face  uncovered  (though  most  of  them  are 
veiled),  led  us  through  a  small  court  into  a 
small  chamber  glaring  with  whitewash;  there 
was  nothing  visible  but  four  bare  walls,  a  floor, 
and  a  ceiling.  By  a  flight  of  narrow  and  steep 
stone  steps  we  ascended  to  the  flat  roof  sur- 
rounded by  a  parapet.  A  fig-tree  threw  its 
gaunt  arms  above  it,  decked  with  a  few  great 
leaves,  and  one  of  these  I  captured  as  a  trophy ; 
below  the  wall  spread  the  great  sea  west- 
ward and  northward  toward  the  "Isles  of 
Chittim." 

Here  began  the  vexatious  debate  as  to  the 
authenticity  of  the  shrines  in  Palestine.  Of 
the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  that  are 
called  holy,  very  few  are  above  suspicion. 
There  are  those  who  question  the  most 
authentic,  who  make  the  tour  of  the  East  snarl- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        27 

ing  as  they  go,  and  whose  demeanor  in  places 
the  most  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the  faithful  is 
indelicate  and  inexcusable;  there  are  those 
who,  with  wide-staring  eyes,  believe  blindly, 
and  who  are  in  a  kind  of  dumb  ecstasy  so  long 
as  their  feet  press  holy  soil.  Judge  who  among 
these  is  the  worthier  pilgrim,  and  let  us  dismiss 
the  subject  forever. 

From  the  roof  of  Simon's  house  the  charms 
of  Jaffa  are  displayed  to  the  best  advantage. 
The  town  is  thoroughly  Oriental :  it  could  not 
be  transplanted,  even  in  its  smallest  sections, 
into  any  other  land  without  at  once  being 
marked  as  an  alien.  Old  as  it  is  in  one  sense, 
it  is  very  fresh  and  young  in  another.  The 
Jaffa  of  to-day  is  lusty  with  the  stirring  life  of 
travel ;  through  its  narrow  and  crooked  streets 
stream  the  caravans  of  the  world.  The  eyes  of 
all  the  nations  of  the  earth  have  turned  to  it 
with  joy ;  the  feet  of  myriads  of  pilgrims  have 
waded,  and  will  forever  wade,  in  its  summer 
dust,  its  winter  mire. 

The  sea,  freighted  with  fleets,  sings  under 
its  weather-beaten  walls  on  the  one  hand,  while 
famed  gardens,  sweet  with  the  odors  of 
unplucked  grapes,  oranges,  pomegranates, 
peaches  and  figs,  hem  it  about  with  bowers  of 
perpetual  shade  upon  the  other. 

Yonder  stands  Lydda,  where  St.  Paul  healed 
.^neas,    where   St.    George  was   bom,  where 


the  lion-hearted  Rich-  i 

ard  pitched  his  camp. 

Beautiful  Ratnleh,  with  its 

splendid  tower,  is  farther  on, 

by  the  green  Plains  of  Sharon. 

Herod  and   Samson  and  David  knew  all  this 

beauty. 

Jaffa  grows  younger  and  more  populous  day 
by  day.  You  see  unmistakable  evidences  of 
this  in  the  aptitude  of  its  people,  the  foreign 
element  in  its  suburbs,  its  numerous  hotels  and 
agencies,  and  the  brisk,  busy  air  that  keeps  all 
its  streets  astir  from  dawn  to  dark. 

But  few  of  the  old  traditions  are  left  to  it. 
In  the  month  of  May  there  is  a  festival  when 
the  Jaffites  go  out  into  their  delicious  groves 
singing  of  Tabitha,  Dorcas,  the  gazelle.  I 
wonder  do  they  think  on  the  time  when 
"widows  stood  weeping,  and  showing  the  coats 
and  garments  which  Dorcas  had  made  while  she 
was  yet  with  them"?  We  thought  of  it,  and  of 
many  things,  as  we  sat  on  the  house-top,  and 
saw  the  sun  set  and  the  evening  creep  on 
28 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


29 


apace.  Evening  —  the  soft  Syrian  evening, 
filled  with  brilliant  stars !  It  reminded  us  that 
we  were  to  set  forth  at  sunrise,  so,  slowly  and 
reluctantly,  we  returned  to  our  house  of  refuge 
— the  great,  peaceful  fortress  that  seemed  to 
fill  half  the  town,  having  over  its  door  the 
inscription  familiar  to  so  many  eyes,  '■'■Hos- 
pitium  Latium,''  and  there  we  found  dinner 
and  a  welcome.  All  night  the  sea  sang  to  us 
a  solemn  song ;  long  we  lay  awake  listening  to 
it,  and  thinking  of  the  morrow,  when  we  were 
to  begin  our  pilgrimage  in  very  | 
truth. 

Jaffa,  called  by  the  Hebrews  "the 
Beautiful,"  may  not  seem  beautiful 
to  all;  but  Jaffa  under  the  rosy 
dawn  of  the  first  day  in  Holy  Land, 
and  Jaffa  star-lit  and  lulled  to  sleep 
by  the  lapping  waves  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, on  the  eve  of  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Jerusalem  the  Golden,  is  a 
city  of  most  precious  memory,  even 
though  it  be  in  the  land  of  the 
Philistines ! 


"•^^^^^s^SSm- 


III. 


GOING  UP  TO  JERUSALEM. 


w^' 


''ViJ:^      PLAINS  OF  SHARON. 


As  for  our  Caravan,  there  were  three  of  us  in 
the  saddle  at  sunrise;  a  fourth,  the  indispen- 
sable donkey-boy,  footed  it  in  the  rear  of  a 
diminutive  beast,  that  staggered  and  halted 
under  a  small  mountain  of  luggage.  As  we 
rode  off  in  the  broad  sandy  road  that  leads 
into  the  Plains  of  Sharon,  we  were  joined  by 
multitudes  of  pilgrims  of  every  creed  and 
color;  for  the  most  sacred  of  cities  is  holy  in 
the  eyes  of  the  whole  civilized  world. 

On  every  side  bloomed  the  rich  gardens  of 
30 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        31 

Jaffa ;  again  and  again  the  splash  of  the  water- 
wheel  fell  musically  upon  our  ears,  telling  the 
secret  of  the  perennial  beauty  of  the  groves 
through  which  we  were  joyously  passing.  Tall 
cypresses,  feathery  mimosas^  and  gigantic  cacti 
threw  cool  shadows  across  our  path ;  the  royal 
palm  waved  its  sable  plumes  above  the  road- 
side fountains ;  camels  knelt  to  rest  with  a  look 
of  pitiful  resignation  saddening  their  liquid 
eyes;  gorgeously  clad  pilgrims  dismounted  in 
the  fragrant  shade,  spread  their  mats  upon  the 
sward,  and  restored  their  souls  with  the  be- 
guiling fumes  of  the  nargileh. 

We  were  hastening  to  the  most  sacred  and 
most  solemn  city  in  the  world ;  we  were  seek- 
ing it  at  a  season  when  the  Passion  and  Death 
of  Him  who  died  that  we  might  live  are  cele- 
brated with  the  utmost  pomp  and  splendor; 
yet  we  laughed  and  chatted  gaily,  made  friends 
with  our  neighbors  in  the  next  caravan,  dashed 
ahead  in  a  trial  of  speed  that  seemed  to  interest 
everybody  on  the  road,  and  in  the  course  of  an 
hour  came  to  grief. 

It  was  discovered  that  one  of  our  animals 
was  an  invalid  and  that  there  was  small  pros- 
pect of  his  living  to  reach  Jerusalem.      Here 

was  a  dilemma ;  but  E ,  our  fair  companion 

on  many  a  voyage  of  discovery,  bore  up  against 
the  odds  with  feminine  fortitude.  All  had 
been   going    moderately  well,   barring  a  sus- 


32        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


picion  of  impending  evil,  and  we  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  enthusiasm  that  inspired  every- 
body ;  but  when  E 's  nag  halted  suddenly, 

and  began  to  kick  with  all-fours  simultaneously, 
and  without  intermission,  threatening  every 
moment  to  throw  himself  and  his  rider  into  the 
ditch,  we  held  a  consultation,  and  impatiently 
awaited  the  arrival  of  our  donkey-boy,  who 
was  by  this  time  far,  far  behind  us  down  the 
dusty  road. 

Meanwhile,   E 's  saddle  was  looked   to; 

we  surrounded  the  obstreperous  nag  in  a 
body,  loosened  the  gfirths,  and  made  an  exam- 
ination: the  saddle  was  good  enough  in  its 
way,  but  the  back  of  that  objectionable  beast 
blossomed  like  the  rose — it  was  positively  raw 
to  the  bone.  With  one  accord  we  threw  up 
our  hands  in  horror;  this  was  the  signal  for 
the  immediate  and  successful  flight  of  the 
miserable  creature,  who  during  the 
last  hour  must  have  endured  a  thou- 
sand tortures ;  and  we  were  not 
A  half  sorry   when  we    saw  him 


make  a  bee-line  for  Jaffa,  his 
youth  renewed,  and  he 
speeding  upon  the 
very  wings  of  the 
morning.  Then  we 
sat  down  by  a  cis- 
tern, with  a  saddle  on  our  hands,  and  a  serious 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        33 

break  in  our  journey.  Pilgrims  cantered  past 
us  in  twos,  and  threes,  and  fives,  and  twenties, 
raising  clouds  of  fine  white  dust  that  powdered 
us  profusely.  They  were  as  amiable  as  we  were 
not,  but  we  consoled  ourselves  with  the  thought 
that  perhaps  their  turn  would  come  later  in 
the  day ;  for  this  sort  of  thing  is  always  hap- 
pening in  the  Orient. 

Our  donkey-boy,  on  his  arrival,  looked 
depressed,  but  accepted  his  fate  with  a  resigna- 
tion that  was  highly  edifying,  and  taught  us  a 
lesson  by  the  wayside.  We  hung  our  saddle 
upon  a  convenient  bough,  even  as  of  old  the 
willows  were  hung  with  harps.  Neither  could 
we  sing  in  our  day  any  more  than  they  sang 
who  sat  by  the  waters  of  Babylon ;  but  we  did 
the  best  we  could  under  the   circumstances, 

and  that  was  to  mount  E upon  my  horse, 

while  I  surmounted  the  luggage  on  the  pack- 
animal,  and  the  donkey-boy  footed  it  back  to 
Jaffa  for  reinforcements. 

It  took  our  united  efforts  to  start  the 
reorganized  caravan;  of  course  my  donkey, 
missing  his  diligent  driver,  and  with  my  weight 
added  to  his  burden,  spilt  off  on  both  sides  of 
the  road,  and  persisted  in  backing  toward 
Jerusalem,  while  he  was  led  at  one  end  and 
pushed  at  the  other,  and  I  rolled  about  in  my 
uneasy  seat  as  if  I  were  striding  a  barrel  in  a 
heavy  sea. 


How  truly  it  has  been  said  that  misery  loves 
company!  We  were  consoled  by  numerous 
mishaps  during  the  journey,  and  saw  with  our 
own  eyes  gfirths  breaking,  saddles  turning,  lug- 
gage plunging  into  the  dust,  while  from  time  to 
time  the  shrill  cries  of  women  assured  us  that 
we  were  not  the  only  sufferers  that  day. 

Our  boy  returned  to  us  in  good  season,  well 
mounted,  and  with  a  fund  of  spirits  quite 
astonishing  in  a  Syrian  and  a  Mohammedan. 
He  dashed  down  upon  us  at  full  speed,  with  a 
fierce  shout  of  triumph,  while  many  a  face  was 
turned  toward  him  half  in  curiosity  and  half  in 
fear,  albeit  this  highway  is  to-day  as  free  as 
any  in  the  land;  for  the  Bedouins  have 
retreated  into  the  mountain  passes,  and  the 
desert  beyond  the  mountains,  and  the  Philis- 
tines are  low  in  their  grassy  grave. 

We  entered  the  Plains  of  Sharon.  The  land 
rose  and  fell  in  long  green  waves.     We  looked 

34 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        35 

across  these  hillocks,  treeless  and  almost  with- 
out shrubs,  though  the  gaunt  cactus  spread  its 
thorny  palms  against  the  sun  in  the  midst  of 
the  lonely  fields.  We  tracked  the  road  for 
miles  and  miles — a  straight  brown  path  divid- 
ing the  meadows ;  sometimes  we  rode  off  into 
the  wild  com,  where  cyclamens,  anemones, 
roses,  lilies,  and  tulips  grew  in  profusion ;  anon 
we  would  dash  on  as  swiftly  as  our  tired  steeds 
could  carry  us,  until  we  reached  an  elevation, 
from  which  it  was  possible  to  view  the  wide 
horizon  at  a  glance. 

A  few  flocks  were  scattered  about ;  pilgrims 
were  still  wending  their  way  toward  the  goal 
we  were  all  seeking ;  and  afar  off  a  nameless 
hamlet — a  mere  cluster  of  low  brown  huts — 
slept  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking  at  the 
hands  of  pilgrim  or  stranger. 

An  early  hour  brought  us  to  Ramleh — a 
small  city  with  mosque  domes  and  minarets, 
and  a  grove  of  drowsy  palms ; — a  city  hedged 
about  with  cacti,  busy  with  bees  and  swal- 
lows, and  musical  with  the  lullaby  of  summer 
life.  Ramleh  is  the  Rose  of  Sharon,  the  joy  of 
the  pilgrim,  and  the  beast  that  bears  him ;  for 
Ramleh  is  a  place  of  refreshment  and  of  rest. 

Ramleh  is  thought  to  be  Ramah  of  the  Old 
Testament  and  Arimathea  of  the  New:  but 
this  is  an  open  question.  From  the  high  win- 
dows of  a  crumbling  tower  of  the  Crusaders — 


36       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


perhaps  the  finest  souvenir  they  have  left  us  in 
that  land — with  the  blue  rim  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean in  the  west,  the  mountains  of  Judea  in 
the  east,  and  the  white  walls  of  Lydda,  or 
Ludd,  in  the  northeast,  and  all  the  meadows 
fresh  with  fragrant  rains,  and  rich  with  uncut 
com  waving  below,  one  scarcely  pauses  to 
question  whether  Samuel  really  judged  the 
people  in  this  very  town,  or  if  the  Hebrew 
Elders  assembled  here  to  demand  a  king. 

Lydda,  the  distant  town,  was  the  birthplace 
of  England's  St.  George — at  least,  so  it  is 
reported  there;  though,  according  to  Meta- 
phrastes,  he  was  born  in  Cappadocia.  Saladin 
destroyed  its  church ;  Richard  the  Lion- 
Hearted  restored  it ;  but  all  that  one 
enjoys  of  Lydda  to-day  is  the  fine 
glimmer  of  its  snow-white  walls  in  the 
delicious  green  prairies  of  Sharon. 
There  was  rest  for  us  in  the  old 
Franciscan  convent  at  Ramleh,  after 
refreshments  and  a  pipe.  How  still 
the  cloisters  were,  and  how  charming 
J  U  the  semi-transparent  shadows  in 
'^    SL  ^^     the    vine-roofed 

~^f?s     .\^mSf*  courts,  andthecof- 
•""■-- tJi^^'*-'*^^   fee  on  the   house- 
top just  before  set- 
ting forth  again !  There 
are    Germans    settled 


TOWER  OF   RAMLEH. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        37 


at  Ramleh;  they  have  an  inn,  and  a  wagon 
that  runs  between  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem,  and 
is  a  great  convenience  when  one  is  weary 
or  afraid  of  the  saddle;  but,  somehow,  this 
wagon  always  drops  its  passengers  at  that 
German  inn,  both  going  and  coming,  whether 


*  CHURCH   OF   ST.    GEORGE. 


&fy      they  will  or  no;   and,  though  it  is  a 

/good  enough  inn,  it  is  not  so  good  or  so 

proper  or  so  picturesque  a  hospice  as  the 

beautiful  old  monastery.     They  miss  it  who 

pass  through  Ramleh  without  at  least  a  glance 

into  the  hospitable  abode  of  the  Franciscans, 

The  noonday  nap  at  Ramleh  ended,  we 
remounted  our  animals  while  they  still 
munched  the  fresh-cut  grass,  and  were  soon 
jogging  up  the  long,  long  road  leading  to  the 


38       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Holy  City.  Most  of  the  caravans  of  the  day 
had  passed  us — we  were  taking  it  leisurely.  A 
little  troop  of  horsemen  in  the  distance  was  all 
that  gave  life  to  the  quiet  afternoon  landscape ; 
a  few  larks  carolled  to  us  in  the  upper  air,  and 
the  bright  blue  sky  bent  over  us;  but  an 
almost  oppressive  silence  prevailed,  and  the 
land  seemed  deserted.  No  wonder!  this  was 
the  plain  of  Sharon;  those  lonely  fields  were 
once    peopled   by  twenty  millions  of  people, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        39 

where  now  there  are  scarcely  a  tenth  part  as 
many.  The  earth  moumeth  and  languish- 
eth,  indeed;  and  Sharon  is  become  a  wilder- 
ness. 

The  road  ascended  into  a  hilly  district  some- 
what wilder  than  that  through  which  we  had 
just  passed.  Shortly  we  began  to  note  upon 
the  hill-tops  great  square  watch-towers  of  dark 
stone,  and  then  we  knew  that,  though  we 
were  on  a  thoroughfare  which  for  four  thou- 
sand years  has  been  the  highway  between 
Jerusalem  and  the  sea-coast,  these  towers  were 
erected  as  a  protection — they  date  chiefly  from 
the  period  of  the  Crusades — and  not  many 
years  ago  it  was  a  perilous  venture  to  seek  the 
Sacred  City  unless  accompanied  by  a  consider- 
able number  of  lancers. 

Up,  up,  up,  and  still  up,  over  the  hills  that 
began  to  fatigue  our  animals,  we  slowly 
approached  the  highlands,  among  which, 
twenty-six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  stands 
Jerusalem.  The  evening  shadows  gathered 
about  us ;  the  cool  dew  fell  copiously ;  crickets 
sang  in  the  long  grass  by  the  road-side,  and  the 
noise  of  our  horses'  stumbling  hoofs  grew 
louder  and  louder  in  the  intensified  stillness  of 
the  gathering  dusk.  Even  the  neighboring 
watch-towers  look  unfriendly,  standing  bleakly 
against  the  darkening  sky.  It  was  thus,  weary, 
hungry,   and    a  little  loath  to  drag  ourselves 


THE  SYRIAN  KHAN. 


into  the  threatening  mountains,  that  we  came 
to  Bab-el-Wady,  the  gate  of  the  valley. 

We  were  at  the  mouth  of  a  deep  ravine ;  the 
road   speedily  buried   itself  in   dense   groves, 
and  was  utterly  lost  to  view  beyond  a  sudden 
40 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        41 

bend.  The  clouds  hung  low  about  the  steep 
and  rugged  mountains,  and  threatened  rain;  it 
was  already  chilly  and  damp:  why  should  we 
venture  farther  on  such  a  night? 

A  stone  khan,  the  inn  of  the  Orient,  stood 
close  upon  the  road-side  to  the  right;  across 
the  way  a  thatched  roof  gave  shelter  to  a  com- 
pany of  muleteers.  The  place  was  swarming 
with  pilgrims;  camels,  horses,  and  asses  were 
staked  out  in  the  grass  about  the  khan ;  fires 
were  blazing,  and  several  camps  were  busy 
discussing  the  evening  meal  of  black-bread  and 


A  PAN   OF   COAI.S   AND  A   SAUCEPAN. 


42        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

oil  and  lentils.  It  was  marvelously  picturesque, 
but  it  was  likewise  a  trifle  cold,  and  so  we 
gave  our  animals  into  the  hands  of  a  retainer — 
our  donkey-boy  was,  of  course,  not  due  before 
midnight — and  climbed  into  the  upper  story  of 
the  khan  to  look  for  shelter. 

There  were  four  huge  rooms  above  with 
vaulted  ceilings,  and  narrow,  deep-set  win- 
dows, that  looked  as  if  they  had  been  built  with 
an  eye  to  security  in  war  time.  There  were 
stone  floors  also,  and  a  little  rickety  furniture 
of  the  rudest  description;  a  feeble  light  dis- 
closed a  cupboard  at  one  end  of  the  main  room ; 
it  was  scantily  furnished  with  stale  bread,  and 
wine  and  oil  and  eggs;  the  eggs  fortunately 
were  fresh,  and  to  these  we  looked  for  life 
enough  to  bear  us  to  Jerusalem  on  the  morrow. 
We  ordered  a  pot  of  coals  from  a  Syrian  Jew, 
who  served  us  civilly ;  a  saucepan  came  next ; 
we  broke  the  eggs  into  the  pan,  and  flooded 
them  with  oil ;  one  of  us  held  the  long  handle 
of  the  saucepan,  another  stirred  the  contents 
with  a  spoon,  I  fanned  the  flames  with  my 
broad-brimmed  hat,  and  the  result  was  gratify- 
ing. With  bread  sopped  in  oil,  eggs  in  some 
nameless  shape,  and  thin  sour  wine  we  made 
an  admirable  supper;  then  we  threw  ourselves 
on  three  hard  lounges — stretchers  they  might 
have  been  called  with  more  propriety — where 
soon  the  long  pulls  and  the  strong  pulls  which 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.         43 

we  took  at  our  nargilehs  made  bubbling  music 
far  into  the  night.  This  is  the  extent  of  the 
entertainment  afforded  by  an  Oriental  inn; 
one  must  travel  with  everything  one  needs  in 
that  country;  the  markets  are  scattered  and 
uncertain,  and  the  heaviest  purse  not  so  long 
as  the  tongue  of  the  extortionate  marketman. 

What  an  experience  that  was!  I  dozed  at 
intervals,  but  awoke  again  and  again,  to  find 
my  comrade  still  drawing  scented  bubbles 
through  the  water-bowl  of  his  Turkish  pipe; 
he  may  have  smoked  incessantly  till  daybreak ; 
at  any  rate,  he  was  a  complete  convert  to  the 
forms  of  his  adopted  country,  Syria,  and  had 
at  his  tongue's  end  modern  Greek,  Turkish, 
Persian,  and  Arabic,  beside  the  chief  languages 
of  Europe ;  and  he  was  only  two  and  twenty. 

Meanwhile,  the  beasts  in  the  stable  under  us 
stamped  about  to  keep  warm;  jingled  their 
little  bells,  and  awoke  their  masters,  who 
chided  them  not  unkindly ;  sometimes  a  donkey 
lifted  up  his  voice  in  agonizing  gasps,  and 
then  we  all  reviled  him  in  chorus.  We  could 
frequently  hear  the  vexed  cries  of  the  restless 
and  uncomfortable  sleepers  under  us ;  to  them 
it  must  have  been  a  long  night  of  torture. 

Long  before  daybreak  we  were  in  the  saddle, 
yet  we  were  not  the  first  to  mount;    as  we 
went    forth    from    our   dreary  lodging  we 
found  coffee  boiling  over  an  open 


44        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

fire  in  the  muleteers'  camp,  pipes  alight,  pil- 
grims stirring  sleepily,  and  animals  of  all  kinds 
pawing  the  ground  and  whinnying  impatiently. 

Some  of  our  fellow-pilgrims  were  encum- 
bered with  all  their  worldly  possessions;  one 
donkey  staggered  under  a  mountain  of  feather- 
beds,  atop  of  which  a  fat  matron  rode  astride, 
while  on  each  side  of  the  diminutive  beast 
swung  a  pannier  full  of  small  children.  The 
lord  and  master  of  this  mountain  of  domestic 
prosperity  footed  it  in  the  rear  of  his  caravan, 
keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  his  precious  freight. 
A  single  false  step  of  the  little  donkey  that 
trudged  sturdily  along  before,  might  have 
widowed  him  and  rendered  him  childless  at 
one  fell  swoop.  He  had  slept  with  his  little 
family  down  among  the  cattle — perhaps  be- 
cause "there  was  no  room  for  him  in  the  inn." 
Such  was  our  first  night  in  a  Syrian  khan. 

Over  the  hills  of  Palestine  we  held  our 
course.  The  way  was  dark,  and  the  morning 
bitter  cold;  thick  clouds  were  continually 
rushing  across  the  moon.  We  entered  a  deep 
and  densely  wooded  ravine;  it  was  filled  with 
mysterious  shadows,  and  swept  by  occasional 
currents  of  cold,  damp  air.  Higher  and 
higher  we  climbed,  until  at  last  we  came  to 
the  bald  summit  of  the  mountains,  where  the 
wind  was  piercing,  and  we  were  soon  chilled 
to  the  bone. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       45 

Day  broke  at  last,  and  was  hailed  with 
acclamations.  We  pressed  on  over  the  wind- 
ing road,  that  sometimes  buried  itself  out  of 
sight  in  the  dark  valleys,  and  sometimes 
climbed  zigzag  up  a  steep  hill-side  among  the 
terraces  that  are  so  common  in  Syria.  All 
these  hills  are  belted  with  stone  terraces, — a 
dozen,  fifteen,  thirty  of  them,  one  above 
another,  damming  up  the  thin  soil  which 
otherwise  would  be  washed  into  the  bed  of  the 
valley.  Olives — gray  old  trees,  as  naked  and 
forlorn  as  some  of  the  monsters  to  which  Dor6 
in  his  illustration  of  Dante  was  fond  of  giving 
a  half -human  form;  olives — great,  straggling 
orchards  of  them — sycamores,  and  a  few  palms 
crown  these  terraces,  and  partially  hide  the 
ugly  ruggedness  of  the  land. 

The  hills  of  Palestine  are  covered  with 
stones  that  lie  thickly  on  the  top  of  the  soil ; 
one  might  easily  imagine  that  a  shower  of 
rock  had  once  deluged  the  country.  These 
rocks  are  easily  thrown  together  in  rude  walls, 
the  soil  above  them  leveled  even  with  their 
tops ;  and  thus  the  hills  become  giant  stairways 
leading  to  the  low-hanging  clouds. 

Hour  after  hour  we  followed  the  road  as  it 
wound  among  the  hills.  A  sharp  shower  drove 
us  into  a  rude  shelter  by  the  wayside,  where 
for  the  time  being  we  were  housed  with  cattle 
and   barnyard    fowls;    dripping  pilgrims   has- 


46        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


tened  to  join  us,  and  together  we  stood  waiting 
fairer  weather.  The  road  was  slippery  after 
this,  and  more  than  once 
our  animals  came  near  to 
unseating  us.  Again  and 
again  the  landscape   was 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       47 

veiled  with  mist ;  other  showers,  following  the 
first,  overtook  us  when  we  were  beyond  the 
reach  of  shelter,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
us  to  do  but  to  continue  our  course  in  solemn 
silence,  while  the  rain  streamed  from  our  hat 
brims  into  our  laps. 

So  we  came  into  the  Valley  of  Aijalon,  and 
remembered  how  Joshua  said:  "Sun,  stand 
thou  still  upon  Gibeon;  and  thou,  moon,  in 
the  Valley  of  Aijalon."  A  little  later  our  eyes 
fell  upon  the  pretty  village  of  Abu  Gash,  so 
called  from  the  robber  chief  who  reigned 
there  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  in  defiance  of 
the  Turkish  powers.  There  the  Ark  of  the 
Covenant  rested  twenty  years;  there  Jeremiah 
was  born — perhaps;  or  perhaps  the  village  of 
Anathoth  has  prior  claim  to  the  honor  of  the 
Prophet's  birth.  A  fine  old  church  at  the  edge 
of  the  village  still  bears  the  name  of  the 
Prophet,  though  it  is  now  a  mere  shell;  its 
doorways  half  filled  with  fallen  stones,  and  a 
rank  growth  of  weeds  possessing  it. 

After  passing  Abu  Gash,  we  descended  into 
the  green  valley  of  Elah;  the  hosts  of  the 
Amorites  fled  through  this  valley  after  their 
defeat  at  Betharam;  and  there  the  youthful 
David  slung  the  pebble  that  sunk  into  the 
forehead  of  Goliath. 

All  these  traditions  came  to  the  surface  on 
the  very  spot,  as  we  rode,   hour  after  hour. 


48        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT, 

through  the  most  interesting  country  of  the 
globe;  yet  I  fear  none  of  them  impressed  us 
much  at  the  time ;  at  least  not  so  much  as  they 
should  have  done,  and  certainly  not  so  much 
as  they  have  done  a  thousand  times  since, 
when  in  imagination  we  have  revisited  the 
scene. 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  one's 
acceptance  of  the  facts  of  sacred  history  and 
the  features  of  profane  geography.  The  time 
had  come,  for  me  at  least,  to  place  one  atop  of 
the  other,  and  mark  how  well  they  agreed; 
they  do  agree,  no  doubt,  as  well  as  any  history 
and  any  geography  of  any  age  or  nation. 
Indeed,  I  believe  it  easier  for  a  man  to  accept 
the  statements  of  the  Bible  literally  after  a 
pilgrimage  to  Palestine  than  before  it.  My 
chief  trouble  lay  in  the  inability  to  realize 
that  Scripture  is  a  history  that  fits  into  every 
nook  and  comer  of  the  land  through  which  I 
was  passing ;  it  had  never  been  brought  home 
to  me  in  this  way  before,  and  the  palpable 
evidences  of  the  authenticity  of  that  marvelous 
book  were  so  numerous  and  so  complete  as  to 
be  almost  overwhelming.  As  a  pilgrim,  I 
accepted  everjrthing  with  a  sometimes  weak, 
but  always  unquestioning,  faith;  reserving  to 
myself,  however,  the  privilege  of  turning  aside 
from  time  to  time  to  let  faith  rest  from  its 
labors,  and  to  give  my  mind  to  the  forgetting 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


49 


of  much  that  is  foolish,  and  not  a  little  that  is 
painful,  in  the  unwise  exhibition  of  shrines, 
and  places  or  objects  more  or  less  holy. 

As  we  were  riding  in  the  sun,  which  at  last 
came  forth  to  give  us  welcome,  an  official 
stopped  our  way;  he  was  resplendent  in 
voluminous  blue  trousers;  a  scarlet  jacket 
crusted  with  gold  embroidery;  a  turban,  with 
a  long  silken  tassel  dangling  between  his 
shoulders,  and  a  glittering  cimeter  of  the  most 
warlike  and  theatrical  description.  He  had 
been  dispatched  to  conduct  us  into  the  city ; 
for  my  companions  were  people  of  dis- 
tinction, and  their  approach  was 
looked  for  by  the  Austrian  Consul, 
whose  private  kawwas  he  was ;  the 
gorgeous  personage  above  men- 
tioned was  at  our  disposal  so  long  as 
we  remained  in  the  Holy  City.  One 
seldom  goes  abroad  in  the  Orient 
without  an  escort  of  this  charac- 
ter, though  he  is  not  always  of 
this  quality. 

As  we  surmounted  hill 
after  hill,  hoping  ever  to 
satisfy  our  eyes  with  a  sight 
of  the  city  we  had  come  so 
far  to  see,  yet  still  seeing  it 
not,  our  hearts  failed  us; 
again  and  again  we  arrived 


A   GORGEOUS   PERSON. 


50       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

silently  at  a  summit,  nervous  with  anticipation, 
breathless  with  unfeigned  emotion,  and  each 
of  us  eager  to  be  the  first  who  should  hail  the 
vision  of  those  memorable  walls.  Again  and 
again  we  saw  beyond  us  another  valley  and 
another  hill ;  the  kawwas,  with  ill-judged  kind- 
ness, encouraged  us  in  the  belief  that  each  hill- 
top was  the  last,  until,  almost  in  despair,  we 
reined  in  our  horses,  and  proceeded  at  a  lazy 
pace,  quite  indifferent  to  our  surroundings. 

Our  excitement  had  entirely  subsided;  we 
were  half  famished,  and  thoroughly  fatigued. 
In  this  state,  almost  unconsciously,  we  ap- 
proached a  group  of  quite  new  buildings, — a 
straggling  village  in  a  bare,  bleak,  forbidding 
landscape,  under  a  gray,  cold  sky,  I  chanced 
to  be  riding  a  little  in  advance  of  our  party, 
when  a  venerable  Polish  Jew,  in  long-flow- 
ing robes,  high  hat,  and  with  the  stiff  ring- 
lets of  his  race  dangling  before 
his  ears,  gravely  saluted  me; 
at  this  moment  our  kawwas 
dashed  forward,  and  in  a  shrill 
voice  exclaimed,  "^Ecce  Gerusa- 
lenima!''  We  were  indeed  within  the 
suburbs  of  the  Holy  City,  and  our  first 
welcome  was  from  a  Polish  Jew, 

The  city  walls  were  not  yet  visible, 
but  the  domes  of  the  Mosque  of  Omar 
and  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre 


THE  WELCOME   TO   JERUSALEM. 


THE  PRINCE  OF  JERUSALEM. 

at  once  met  our  \  /  gaze,  and  we  turn- 
ed to  one  another  >/  with  glances  of  rec- 
ognition, but  without  uttering  a  word. 

Let  me  confess  that  I  had  pictured  myself, 
at  the  moment  when  I  first  beheld  this  sacred 
spot,  falling  with  my  forehead  to  the  earth, 
and  watering  the  sod  with  tears;  when  that 
hour  arrived  I  was  in  no  humor  to  do  any- 
thing of  the  sort.  The  scene  had  not  burst 
upon  me  with  overwhelming  beauty  or  majesty 
or  solemnity.  The  village  without  the  walls 
was  unattractive,  and,  moreover,  we  had 
approached  the  Jaffa  Gate,  which  of  all  the 
gates  is  perhaps  the  least  impressive ;  however, 
we  did  not  enter  there,  but,  following  the  wall 
to  the  left,  passed  down  under  its  shadow, 
and  came  into  the  edge  of  a  narrow  vale 
fringed  with  Mohammedan  graves. 

We  were  seeking  St.  Stephen's  Gate.  Over 
the  wall  of  the  city  loomed  the  superb  dome  of 


5*        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


Omar's  Mosque ;  to  the  left  lay  a  small  garden 
on  a  sloping  hill;  above  the  garden,  on  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  stood  a  solitary  chapel, 
walled  about,  having  a  tower  and  a  prospect 
over  olive  groves,  and  across  the  narrow  vale 
at  our  feet,  upon  the  long  sweep  of  wall  and 
all  the  domes  and  minarets  of  the  Sacred  City. 
This  vision  dawned  upon  us  as  we  turned  the 
comer  of  the  wall,  and  with  it,  suddenly, 
like  a  blinding  flash,  came  the  thought,  Jerusa- 
lem, the  Valley  of  Jehosaphat,  the  Garden  of 
Gethsemane,  the  Mount  of  Olives !  In 
a  moment  we  were  upon  the  ground, 
leading,  with  trembling  hand,  our  ani- 
mals toward  the  gate,  the  most  precious 
gate,  that  opens  upon  Gethsemane. 

It  is  written,  "The  King  walks  when 
he  comes  to  Zion. "  At  the  worn  thresh- 
old of   the  gate  the  guards  presented 
arms;   the  muskets  clanged  upon  the 
pavement    as  we    passed  out    of    the 
gloomy  archway  into  a  narrow  street. 
It  was  but  a  step  to  the  Via  Dolorosa. 
None  of  us  had  yet  spoken ;  as  we  rec- 
ognized localities  familiar  to  us  from 
early  childhood,  by  reason  of  the  thou- 
sand prints  and  pictures  we  had 
seen,    we    sometimes  exchanged 
quick  glances,   but   this  was 
^5r'^\  all.      Each  paler  than  com- 


MINARET    OF   OMAR. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       53 

mon,  a  kind  of  nervous  tremor  possessed  us, 
and  we  were  dumb  with  awe. 

Passing  up  the  Via  Dolorosa,  under  the  Ecce 
Homo  Arch,  we  approached  the  hospice,  whose 
charity  had  already  set  our  rooms  in  order,  and 
laid  the  cloth  for  our  welcome  meal. 

During  the  hours  that  followed  but  one 
thought  was  in  my  mind;  it  filled  my  heart 
with  unspeakable  gratitude,  for  it  was  a 
prophecy  again  fulfilled;  it  was  the  refrain 
sung  over  and  over  again  to  the  wild  throb- 
bing of  my  pulse — "Our  feet  shall  stand  within 
thy  gates,  O  Jerusalem!" 


IV. 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  JERUSALEM. 

Behold  the  Field  of  the  Mosque  of  Omar! 
Standing  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives,  with  the 
familiar  panorama  of  Jerusalem  spread  out 
before  you,  the  first  object  that  attracts  the 
eye,  and  the  one  that  is  sure  to  hold  it  longest, 

is  the    Haram- 
esh-Sherif — the 
Field   of    the 
Mosque     of 
Omar.  It  is  bor- 
dered   on    two 
sides  by  the  an- 
cient   and   pic- 
turesque walls  of  the 
city.     It  hangs  upon 
the  brink  of  the  val- 
I   ley  of  the   Kedron — 
Jehoshaphat — a  nar- 
row   and    not     very 
deep    ravine,    dotted 
with  Moslem  tombs. 
It  absorbs  for  a  time 
the  attention    of  the   pilgrim; 
for  its  traditions  are   as   star- 
tling,   as    attractive,    as     fan- 

54 


SOLOMON  S   STABLES. 


56        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT, 


tastic  as  any  within  the  range  of  human  knowl- 
edge. 

Mount  Zion,  though  it  overtops  the  world  in 
the  imagination  of  the  Christian,  is,  after  all, 
only  a  little  hill,  and  by  no  means  impressive ; 
but  the  Field  of  the  Mosque  of  Omar  is  at  once 
the  pedestal  and  the  pylon  of  the  most  brilliant 
epochs  in  the  history  of  all  time. 

The  platform  of  the  Temple — that  is,  the 
field  itself — is  partly  artificial,  the  southeast 
corner  being  supported  by  a  hundred  massive 
columns  twenty-eight  feet  in  height;  these 
columns  are  roofed  over,  and  the  roof  is  cov- 
ered with  soil  and  grass ;  it  is,  in  fact,  a  part  of 

the  great  field 
of  the  Temple, 
stretching  out 
to  the  city  wall 
above  Kedron 
valley.  The 
damp  and 
gloomy  vaults 
beneath  are 
called  Solo- 
mon's stables. 
Tradition,  that 
runs  wild  in  the 
Orient,  and  em- 
barrasses h  i  s  - 
tory    whenever 


WINDOWS   LIKE   CAGES. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       57 

it  is  possible,  ascribes  the  origin  of  these  sub- 
terranean chambers  to  demons. 

But  is  there  a  corner  of  the  earth  more 
crowded  with  interest  than  the  enclosed  field 
above  these  vaults — the  field  of  the  Temple, 
or  of  the  Mosque  of  Omar?  Here  is  the  most 
beautiful  of  mosques ;  here  are  prayer-shrines, 
cypress  and  olive  trees  in  clusters,  and  the 
great  gate  called  the  "Golden,"  long  since 
walled  up,  and  not  to  be  reopened  till  the 
Day  of  Judgment,  when  the  Judge  shall  enter 
by  it.  There  are  long  rows  of  dwellings, 
standing  with  backs  to  the  field,  upon  the 
north  and  west;  there  are  colonades,  deep 
porches,  latticed  windows  clinging  to  the  walls 
like  huge  bird-cages,  and  a  lesser  mosque, 
called  El  Aksa,  near  the  southern  wall. 

Upon  this  spot  Abraham  offered  sacrifices; 
David  raised  an  altar;  Solomon,  as  if  by 
enchantment,  conjured  his  marvelous  Temple. 
A  second  temple  sprang  from  the  ruins  of  the 
first;  a  third — King  Herod's — followed  that, 
and  much  of  the  latter  is  preserved  to  this 
day.  For  the  site  of  these  structures  the 
slope  of  the  hill  was  walled  up,  and  filled  in 
over  the  valleys  of  Jehoshaphat  on  the  east, 
Hinnom  on  the  south,  and  Zyropoeon  on  the 
west.  In  the  Porch  of  Solomon,  under  the  last 
of  the  temples,  looking  out  upon  Olivet,  Our 
Blessed   Savior  walked.      At  the   Temple  sat 


58        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


the  money-chang- 
of  doves  and  ewe     v  "^ 
those  days  the  gold 
stones  that  decorated  the 
must    have 
sacrificial  fires 
the    sun 
set  upon 
But  the 
was  over- 
stood  Ha- 
with  its 
gods  ; 
mosque 
c  r  o  wn- 
been  re- 
as    the 
save 
only 
iilecca 


•'^ 


r  w 


ers,  and  the  sellers 
lambs;  and  in 
and  precious 
sacred  edifices 
glowed  like 
in  the  glory  of 
that  rose  and 
*•  Jerusalem. 

kingly    Tabernacle 

thrown,  and  in    its   stead 

drian's  temple  to  Jupiter, 

constellation  of  profane 

and    finally    arose    the 

which    we     now     see, 

jniil»fr>c:^«u!i!i|  ing  a  spot  that  has  ever 

S^ifC^J^^W  garded  by  the  Moslems 

\\     ^n       holiest  of  all  holy  places, 


IN  THE   FIELD   OF   THE   MOSQUE  OF   OMAR. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       59 

Eight  gates  in  the  western  wall  of  the 
Haram-esh-Sherif  admit  you  to  the  green 
enclosure.  These  gates  stand  open,  and 
people  are  continually  passing  in  and  out ;  but 
the  few  foreigners  who  enter  are  invariably 
accompanied  by  the  necessary  official,  the 
kawwas,  who  is  in  reality  a  chief  of  police, 
though  he  acts  as  your  guide  or  dragoman. 

The  irregular  quadrangle  within  the  gates  is 
about  five  hundred  and  thirty  yards  in  length 
by  three  hundred  and  fifty  in  breadth.  The 
.field  is  littered  with  pavilions,  prayer-niches, 
and  Mohammedan  shrines,  that  seem  to  have 
been  scattered  hither  and  yon  with  reckless 
extravagance.  Beautiful  little  domes,  like 
rainbow-tinted  bubbles,  are  poised  upon  clus- 
ters of  slender  columns  of  porphyry,  serpen- 
tine, or  alabaster;  these  columns  are  moulded 
like  wax,  and  set  upon  marble  floors,  open  to 
the  sun  and  the  wind,  and  all  winged  and 
wandering  tribes  of  the  air.  They  are,  for 
the  most  part,  filthy  and  neglected,  yet  one 
must  approach  them  in  his  stocking-feet,  or 
with  his  boots  thrust  into  loose  slippers,  or 
bundled  up  in  newspaper,  like  packages  from 
the  butcher;  for  each  and  all  of  these  pavil- 
ions are  holy  in  the  eyes  of  the  Mohammedans, 
and  are  gfuarded  with  fanatical  zeal. 

At  one  end  of  the  field  is  a  small  mosque, 
which    was    originally  a    chapel    erected    by 


6o        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


Justinian  to  the  honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
Alas!  how  it  has  been  stripped  of  every  sym- 
bol of  Christian  love  and  reverence !  A  foot- 
print of  Our  Lord  is  shown  there,  and  a  tomb 
is  pointed  out  as  that  of  the  sons  of  Aaron.  A 
niche  in  a  subterranean  chapel  is  called  the 
Cradle  of  Christ ;  tradition  says  here  dwelt  the 
aged  Simeon,  and  here  the  Blessed  Virgin 
spent  some  days  after  the  Presentation 
the  Temple. 

Putting  on  our  shoes,  we  followed 
the  wall  until  we  came  to  the  Beau- 
tiful   Gate,    now  generally    called, 
through  an  odd  but  easy  error,  the 
Golden  Gate.    The  Arabs  have 
walled  it  up  against  invaders, 
and  placed  under  it  a  prayer- 
niche;   yet,  in  spite  of  these 
precautions,   a   superstition 
prevails    that    a    Christian 
Conqueror  will  enter  by 
that  gate  some  Friday 
in    the    hereafter,   and 
retake    the  Holy  City. 
Heaven  speed  the  new 
Crusade!     for    in    the 
days  of  the    old   ones 
this  gate  was  thrown  open  on  Palm 
Sunday  to  admit  the  multitudes 
coming   over   from   the  Mount 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        6i 

of  Olives,  bearing  palm  branches,  and  strew- 
ing their  garments  in  the  way. 

Not  far  from  the  gate  is  a  chamber  called 
the  Throne  of  Solomon,  It  is  said  that,  for 
all  his  glory,  he  died  here,  seated  upon  his 
throne,  and  supported  by  his  staff.  By  this 
ruse,  says  the  childish  fable,  the  king  hoped  to 
conceal  the  knowledge  of  his  death  from  the 
demons;  and  it  was  not  until  the  worms  had 
eaten  through  the  staff,  and  the  king  had 
fallen  headlong  to  the  floor,  that  his  death 
was  discovered  by  the  evil  spirits,  whom  he 
held  in  bondage. 

The  windows  of  this  mosque-like  chamber 
are  filled  with  rags,  that  have  been  torn  from 
the  garments  of  the  Moslem  pilgrims,  and  left 
as  tributes.  One  continually  meets  with  these 
tatters — bits  of  glass  or  tin,  pieces  of  string,  or 
in  fact  anything  and  everything  that  can  be 
tied  to  a  mosque  window-grating,  or  to  the 
trees  near  the  tomb  of  a  sheik,  whose  relics 
are  held  sacred. 

The  field  of  the  Mosque  of  Omar  fills  one 
with  disappointment  and  regret,  there  is  such 
a  waste  of  splendid  material,  and,  in  our  eyes 
at  least,  a  desecration  unspeakable.  There  is 
a  total  lack  of  harmony  in  the  grouping  of  the 
buildings,  some  of  which  are  marvels  of  beauty 
and  architectural  grace.  The  trees  seem  to 
have  grown  by  chance  in  the  most  inconven- 

6 


62       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


lent  spots ;  an  air  of  desolation  broods  over  all ; 
the  place  looks  as  if  it  had  been  devastated 
again  and  again — and  so  it  has.  Indeed, 
women  might  weep  among  these  ruins,  and 
men  rend  their  garments, 
with  thinking  of  the  glory- 
that  has  departed  out  of 
them. 

A  flock  of  lambs  was  feed- 
ing on  the   young  grass  as 
we  entered  the  chief  gate  of 
the  Field  of  the  Mosque  of 
Omar.     At  one  or  two  of  the 
small    shrines  —  they    were 
mere  niches  like  tombstones, 
set    up    with    their 
backs  toward  Mecca 
— M  ohammedans 
were    prostrated    in 
prayer.  A  blue  cloud 
of  pigeons  whirled 
over  our  heads,  or 
buried  themselves 
among  the  project- 
ing  cases   of    the 
deep   windows    in 
the  walls  above  us. 
We  looked  across 
the  broad  enclos- 
the  centre  of  it  a 


THRONE  OF  SOLOMON. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        63 

temple  so  exquisitely  proportioned  and  so  splen- 
didly tinted  that  one  might  easily  imagine  it 
some  fairy  pleasure-house  cut  from  a  single 
gem.  On  a  pedestal  stands  the  fiat-roofed 
octagon,  pierced  with  elaborately  ornamented 
windows,  set  with  marble  panels  and  porcelain 
tiles,  and  the  whole  structure  looking  as  fine 
and  delicate  as  ivory. 

A  single  dome  seems  to  be  floating  in  the 
air  above  the  mysterious  chamber, — a  dome 
crusted  with  tiles  that  encase  it  like  feathers 
or  fish-scales ;  and  the  tiles  are  tinted  with  all 
the  changeful  shades  of  orange,  violet,  and 
green;  —  a  dome  that  in  the  sunshine  is  as 
beautifully  outlined  and  as  splendidly  dyed  as 
the  breast  of  a  peacock.  This  is  the  Rubbet- 
es-Sakhra  —  the  Dome  of  the  Rock,  the 
Mohammedan  Holy  of  Holies.  Under  the 
arcade  that  surrounds  the  mosque  will  hang 
the  g^eat  scales  that  are  to  weigh  the  good 
and  evil  on  the  judgment  day ;  within  it  is  the 
rock  itself, — a  rock  so  venerated  that  no  foot 
is  permitted  to  tread  it.  We  are  constrained 
to  approach  it  with  our  shoes  off,  and  even  so 
late  as  the  Crimean  War,  it  was  worth  a  Chris- 
tian's life  to  seek  admission  here.  It  is  said 
that  the  Jews  have  never  sought  it,  as  they 
fear  they  may  unwittingly  defile  their  Holy  of 
Holies. 

The    interior    of    the    mosque   is  airy  but 


64       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


impressive.  Elegant  antique  columns  support 
the  roof,  and  form  a  double  circular  isle. 
These  columns  differ  in  size  and  shape  and 
color;  some  of  them  probably  did  service  in 
the  pagan  temple ;  some  may  have  stood  in  the 
very  Temple  of  Solomon.  One,  at  least,  bears 
the  symbol  of  our  Redemption.  A  perpetual 
twilight  floods  the  lofty  dome;  it  is  scarcely 
possible  to  distinguish  the  rich  mosaics,  the 
fantastic  arabesques,  the  garlands  of  flowers, 
and  the  ancient  Cufic  inscriptions  that  run 
round  the  walls,  whereon  is  written : 

"Praise  be  to  God,  who  has  had  no  son  or 
companion   in  His  government,  and  who  re- 
quires no  helper  to  save 
Him  from  dishonor.  .  .  . 
The  Messiah  Jesus  is  only 
the  Son  of  Mary,  the  Am- 
bassador of    God,  and  His  Word,  which 
He   deposited  in   Mary.      .      ,     . 
God  is  not  so  constituted  that  He 
could  have   a  Son;   be  that 

far  from  Him!" 

The  light 
stealing  through 
the  stained- 
glass  windows, 
that  are  pro- 
tected from  the 
"  weather  by  thin 


A  PULPIT. 


sheets  of  porcelain,  falls 
softly  on  the  florid  orna- 
ments of  bronze  and  gold, 
and  casts  a  spell  over  the 
curious  visitors  who  have  entered  to  gaze  upon 
the  sacred  rock. 

The  rock,  which  lies  immediately  beneath 
the  dome,  is  partly  covered  by  a  Persian 
carpet;  a  high  railing  surrounds  it.  A  gate 
in  this  railing  admits  you  to  the  cavern  in  or 
under  the  rock,  which  is  entered  by  a  short 
flight  of  stairs. 

Here,  on  this  rock,  according  to  the  Talmud 
and  the  Targums,  Abraham  was  on  the  point 
of  slaying  Isaac;  Melchisedek  offered  sacri- 
fices;   Jacob    anointed  it;    Jehovah    concealed 

6s 


66        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

within  it  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  which  is 
supposed  to  be  still  buried  beneath  it.  On 
this  rock  was  written  the  '''' Shamhamphorash^'" 
the  great  and  unspeakable  Name  of  God;  it 
was  the  threshing-floor  of  Araunah,  the  Jebu- 
site,  and  King  Solomon's  Holy  of  Holies. 

According  to  the  Mohammedan  tradition,  the 
rock — which  is  fifty-seven  feet  long,  fifty-three 
feet  wide,  and  rises  six  feet  and  six  inches 
above  the  floor  of  the  mosque — ^hovers  over  an 
abyss,  with  a  subterranean  torrent  raging 
below.  Beneath  it  is  a  well,  where  the  souls 
of  the  deceased  assemble  in  prayer  twice 
weekly.  Some  assert  that  the  rock  came  from 
Paradise;  that  it  rests  upon  a  palm-tree 
watered  by  a  river  of  Paradise,  and  that  holy 
women  stand  beneath  it  in  ecstasy.  Again  it 
is  asserted  that  the  last  trump  will  be  sounded 
from  its  summit,  and  the  throne  of  God  will 
then  be  placed  there. 

Mohammed  declares  that  one  prayer  offered 
at  the  Dome  of  the  Rock  is  better  than  a 
thousand  uttered  elsewhere.  Hither  he  came 
to  pray  in  a  corner  under  the  rock,  and  was 
forthwith  translated  to  his  heaven,  on  the  back 
of  his  winged  steed  El  Burak.  His  flight  was 
so  sudden  and  unexpected  that  he  went  through 
the  roof  of  the  cavern  like  a  shot,  leaving  a 
large  hole  in  verification  of  the  fact.  The 
enamored  rock  was  upon  the  point  of  flying 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


67 


after  him,  when  it  was  seized  by  the  Angel 
Gabriel,  who  left  his  finger-marks  in  the  side 
of  it.  The  rock,  enraged  at  this  interference 
on  the  part  of  the  Angel,  ran  out  its  tongue  at 
him,  and  there  it  hangs  to  this  hour,  in  a  very- 
proper  state  of  petri-  ,^^ 
faction.  ^  ^^^iv^ 

The  relics  that  are      '^   .  ^ 
gathered  in  the  mosque  are  'A, 
trivial — a    few   hairs    from 
Mohammed's  beard,    the 
banners  of  Mohammed  and 
Omar,  and  the   shield 


/y  - 


of  Hamzeh;  the  petri- 
fied     saddle    of     that 
flying    horse,  and   a 
slab  of  jasper,  where-  ^  ^, 
in  the  Prophet  drove 
nineteen  golden  nails. 
One     nail    had    disap 
peared  at  the  end  of 
each  epoch,  and  this 
was    likely   to     con- 
tinue;   but  one  day 
the    devil — probably 
in  the  disguise  of  a 
curio-hunting  tourist — succeeded  in  mak- 
ing way  with  all  but  three  of  the  nails, 
when,  as  usual,  the  Angel  Gabriel  came 
to  the    rescue,   and   three  golden  nails 


ST.    JOHN'S 


68       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE   CRESCENT. 

are  still  treasured.  Perhaps  this  is  fortunate, 
for  the  Moslems  believe  that  upon  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  last  nail  the  world  will  come 
to  an  end. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  Crusaders  built  a 
high  altar  in  the  centre  of  the  rock,  surround- 
ing it  with  statues  of  the  saints,  and  raising 
above  a  golden  crucifix.  Traces  of  the  choir 
are  still  visible;  and  the  bronze  screen,  with 
four  gates,  is  still  preserved,  to  mark  that 
eventful  period  in  the  history  of  the  rock ;  but 
the  place  that  was  once  thrice  holy  has  been 
profaned,  and  it  is  only  through  the  courtesy 
of  the  Turks,  and  by  the  payment  of  an  extor- 
tionate fee,  that  a  Christian  is  permitted  to  visit 
it  in  his  stocking-feet. 

Thus  passed  the  blessed  days.  Yussef 
Effendi,  Mayor  of  Jerusalem,  came  again  and 
again  to  lure  us  away  among  the  streets  of 
his  native  city.  We  smoked  with  him  in  caf^s 
that  sometimes  hid  themselves  under  the  pon- 
derous arches  of  a  dismantled  temple,  whose 
stones  were  laid  by  the  pious  but  warlike 
hands  of  the  Crusaders.  We  treaded  dingy 
bazaars,  roofed  with  stone,  begrimed  with 
smoke,  thronged  with  loungers  of  every  nation- 
ality, and  there  priced  the  barbaric  ornaments 
of  beaten  silver  that  delight  the  Oriental  eye. 
Hoops  and  bracelets,  knotted  or  braided; 
girdles  strung  thick  with  jingling  corns;  neck- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       69 

laces,  breastplates,  earrings,  and  bands  for 
the  forehead  and  the  hair, — all  these  were  put 
into  the  scales,  and  offered  at  so  much  per 
ounce. 

One  day,  in  that  dusky  bazaar — they  are  like 
veritable  tunnels  running  under  masses  of  con- 
creted dwellings — an  Arab  lad  strolled  into  our 
midst,  and  jostled  us  rudely,  uttering  at  the 
same  time  some  uncivil  comments  on  our 
method  of  bargaining.  In  a  moment  our 
kawzvas,  who  was  vigilance  itself,  turned  upon 
the  young  fellow,  and  drove  him  out  of  the 
bazaar  with  many  stripes.  No  one  seemed  at 
all  disconcerted — not  even  the  poor  lad  upon 
whose  back  the  blows  fell  thick  and  fast ;  he 
uttered  not  a  word;  the  business  of  the  hour 
was  continued  without  interruption,  and  the 
affair  dismissed  without  comment. 

Meanwhile,  the  scales  in  the  hands  of  the 
weigher  balanced  between  clumsy  disks  of  sil- 
ver and  the  little  bronze  weights  carefully 
selected  by  the  very  artisan  who  had  melted 
and  moulded  and  polished  his  wares  in  the 
small  nook  where  he  was  offering  them  for 
sale.  The  shadowy  populace  drifted  to  and 
fro  in  the  long,  subterranean  streets,  whose 
sombre  atmosphere  was  cleft  here  and  there 
by  dusty  bars  of  dense  blue  light,  that  slid 
obliquely  through  crevices  in  the  vaulted  roof 
above. 


7o       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Leaving  the  three  dark  streets  of  the  bazaar 
— ^streets  that  are  crossed  by  narrow  ways  and 
passages  almost  as  black  as  a  starless  night — 
we  came  into  the  glare  of  open  day.  Then  we 
went  to  and  fro,  between  the  forbidding  walls 
of  houses,  that  are  in  every  case  provided  with 
bolts  and  bars  and  g^ratings.  Often  two  or 
three  steps,  the  breadth  of  the  street,  carried 
us  up  or  down ;  there  are  no  wheeled  vehicles 
in  the  Holy  City,  and  these  street-steps  are 
worn  deep  in  the  middle  by  the  ceaseless  feet 
of  people  and  the  hoofs  of  beasts,  who  share 
the  way  in  common. 

Side  streets  turn  sharply  to  right  or  left,  and 
almost  immediately  disappear  beyond  the 
corners  of  adjacent  houses.  We  met  swarms 
of  Polish  Jews,  in  flowing  robes  that  looked  not 
unlike  morning-gowns;  Greeks,  Latins,  Arme- 
nians, and  Copts,  are  equally  distinguished  b)'' 
their  several  costumes.  Nubians,  Hindoos, 
Afghans,  Persians,  Tartars,  Arabs,  and  Modem 
Greeks  filed  before  us  in  a  perpetual  pageant. 

Christian  Street  in  Jerusalem  is  an  open 
bazaar,  full  of  sunshine,  mother  of  pearl,  and 
amber.  There  are  stone  steps  in  this  street 
that  have  been  turned  to  account  by  venders 
of  holy  objects;  these  busy  bees  buzz  over 
their  wares  on  each  side  of  the  way,  leaving 
between  them  a  narrow  path  for  the  passage 
of  pilgrims,  their  chief  purchasers.     Here  are 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        71 

spread  heaps  of  crosses,  cut  in  olive  wood, 
ivory,  amber  and  pearl;  rosaries  of  every 
description  line  the  walls  a  foot  deep ; — pious 
pictures,  great  pearl  shells  curiously  engraved 
with  scenes  from  the  Passion  of  Our  Lord,  and 
some  of  them  carved  delicately  in  lace-like 
patterns;  roses  of  Jericho,  cut  and  dried,  and 
looking  for  all  the  world  like  withered  cabbage 
sprouts ;  olive-wood  cuif -buttons,  napkin-rings, 
paper-folders,  and  numberless  pretty  souvenirs. 
Glass  bracelets  from  the  Hebron  are  there, 
offered  wholesale  and  retail,  at  prices  ranging 
from  two  or  three  sous  upward;  necklaces, 
consisting  of  a  multitude  of  thin  glass  disks, 
moulded  in  the  fashion  of  flower-petals,  and 
painted  to  resemble  the  wings  of  butterflies, 
are  singularly  beautiful,  and  astonishingly 
cheap. 

There  are  shops  where  Bibles  and  Testa- 
ments may  be  had,  bound  in  covers  of  olive 
wood,  with  the  Cross  of  Jerusalem  carved  on 
one  cover,  and  the  name  of  the  Holy  City,  in 
Hebrew  characters,  stamped  upon  the  other. 
Candlesticks,  boxes  of  all  sizes  and  various 
patterns,  crucifixes  great  and  small,  desks, 
tables,  and  even  larger  articles  of  furniture, 
are  ready  for  immediate  transportation;  and 
all  are  made  of  olive  wood,  and  most  of  the 
wood  is  said  to  have  grown  upon  the  Mount  of 
Olives. 


72       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


Nowhere  else  have  I  seen  such  splendid 
amber — great  beads  of  it,  almost  as  large  as 
hens'  eggs,  strung  on  thick  silken  cords; 
mouth-pieces  that  you  could  hardly  girdle  with 
your  thumb  and  finger — colossal  globes  of 
imprisoned  sunshine,  oily  to  the  touch,  per- 
fumed, magnetic,  and  of  inestimable  value. 
These  precious  wares  lie  in  confusion  at  the 
doors  of  shops  no  bigger  than  cupboards,  and 
are  brooded  over  by  fat,  drowsy-eyed  Turks, 
who,  for  the  most  part,  seem  to  think  it  an 
unkindness  in  the  purchaser  to  bear  away  in 
triumph — though  he  leave  its  weight  in 
gold — a  tube  of  amber,  out  of  which 
one  might  almost  blow  bubbles  of 
liquid  flame. 

The  number  of  shrines, 
convents,  mosques,  and  syn- 
s-gogues  in  Jerusalem  is  al- 
most beyond  computation. 
One  is  dragged  through 
scores  of  them,  told  fabulous 
legends,  relieved  of  a  back- 
sheesh— the  always  demanded 
fee — and  suffered  to  depart 
at  last  in  a  state  of  pitiful 
exhaustion.  Even  objects 
of  great  historical  interest, 
such  as  the  "Hippicus  Tower," 
called  the  "City  of  David,"  are 


YUSSEF   EFFENDI. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE   CRESCENT.        73 

scarcely  impressive  in  their  present  state ;  nor 
is  the  great,  gray  ruin  of  the  Muristan  at  all 
satisfactory,  unless  one  has  the  power  to  re- 
store, in  imagfination,  the  broken  arches,  tear 
lichen  from  the  crumbling  walls,  and  replace 
the  burnished  arms  that  once  hung  there.  Yet 
in  the  scholar's  chamber  of  the  Muristan,  the 
order  of  the  Hospitallers — the  pious  Knights 
of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem — nourished  the  pil- 
grims, who  in  those  days  were  sorely  in  need 
of  nourishment  when  they  went  up  into  the 
Holy  City. 

On  the  very  spot  where  now  the  Hospice  and 
great  Church  of  St.  Mary  are  falling  to  decay, 
once  stood  the  monastery  founded  by  Charle- 
magne. 

The  Church  of  St.  Anne  was  built  by  the 
Crusaders  on  the  site  of  a  church  mentioned 
as  early  as  the  7th  century.  In  the  ancient 
crypt,  says  one  tradition,  dwelt  St.  Anne  when 
she  gave  birth  to  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Sultan 
Abdul-Mejid  gave  the  Church  of  St.  Anne  to 
Napoleon  HI.  in  1856.  The  Sultan  likewise 
presented  the  Muristan  to  Prussia  on  the 
occasion  of  the  visit  of  the  Crown  Prince  to 
Constantinople,  in  1869.  It  is  not  improbable 
that  some  favored  monarch  may  find  a  polite 
note  at  the  side  of  his  breakfast-plate  some 
fine  morning,  begging  him  to  accept  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  "as  a  slight  testimonial,"  etc. 


74        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


It  is  easy  enough  to  find  one's  way  to  a  spot 
where  two  or  three  cypresses  stand  upon  the 
brink  of  a  shallow  pool  of  green-mantled 
water.  It  seems  the  receptacle  for  the  rub- 
bish of  the  neighborhood;  one  would  hardly 
give  it  a  second  glance  in  passing.  Yet  that  is 
the  Bethesda — the  pool  into  which  the  angel 
was  wont  to  descend. 

The  Pool  of  Siloam,  under  the  city  wall,  is 
visited  by  the  afflicted,  who  consider  it  a 
never-failing  fount  of  eye- water ;  but  the  cur- 
rent is  polluted,  and  put  to  practical  uses  by 
tanners  and  washerwomen. 

One  might  almost  cry  out  in  despair  on  the 

first  glance  at  Je- 
rusalem,  seeing 
the    mercenary 
spirit  of  the   inhabitants, 
which  penetrates  even  the 
most    secret    and 
sacred  of  shrines: 
'Ye  have  made  it 
a  den  of  thieves!" 
It    was    a    relief    to 
pause,  as  we  often  did, 
to    glance  through 
the    grating    of    a 
Moslem    cemetery. 
I  remember  one  in  par- 
ticular— a  tiny  garden- 


THE  POOL  OF   SILOAM. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       75 

plot  in  the  Via  Dolorosa.  It  is  overgrown  with 
flowers  and  thistles,  and  fat,  thriving  weeds. 
Its  serene  and  secret  loveliness  is  a  delight  to 
the  eye  and  the  heart.  A  lamp  swings  under 
a  gaunt  olive-tree,  that  shelters  half  its  unkept 
graves.  The  slender,  turbaned  headstones  are 
slowly  sinking  in  the  rain-soaked  soil.  Some  of 
them  are  prostrate  in  the  long,  juicy  grasses, 
that  bend  over  them  as  if  to  hide  this  proof  of 
forgetfulness  on  the  part  of  those  who  are, 
perhaps,  still  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  life. 
That  quiet  nook  is  like  a  little  poem  on 
death — but  it  is  lyrical,  and  not  altogether 
sad;  certainly,  by  no  means  so  sad  or  so 
saddening  as  half,  or  more  than  half,  that  one 
sees  on  every  hand  in  the  streets  of  the  Holy 
City. 

Let  us  get  hence  under  the  deep  wall  of  the 
Temple,  and  witness  one  of  the  most  singular 
and  solemn  spectacles  of  the  many  that  are 
peculiar  to  this  singularly  solemn  city. 

It  is  Friday  at  the  Jews'  wailing-place.  Nar- 
row, crooked,  and  filthy  streets  lead  down 
under  the  hill  of  the  temple.  As  you  approach 
the  open  space  against  the  huge  blocks  of 
stone  that  are  imbedded  in  the  foundations  of 
the  wall — stones  that  are  believed  to  have 
rested  there  since  the  days  of  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory — your  ear  is  startled  by  a  chorus  of 
agonizing  cries.      Such   a    wail    might    have 


76       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

ascended  from  the  streets  after  that  night  of 

the  death  of  the  first-born. 

Turning  out  of  the  slippery  and  ill-smelling 

passage  into  the  place  of  wailing,  I  beheld  a 

multitude  of  men, 
women,  and  chil- 
dren, apparently- 
stricken  with  a  com- 
mon sorrow,  that 
could  find  adequate 
expression  in  noth- 
ing but  tears  and 
piercing  cries.  There 
may  have  been  two 
hundred  mourners ; 
a  very  small  company 
of  strangers  stood 
apart,  and  looked  on 
in  amazement.  Old 
men  with  snowy 
beards,  old  women 
withered  and  weath- 
er-beaten, sat  against 
the  wall  opposite  the 
sacred  stones  of  the 
Temple,  reading 
their  prayer-books^ 
and  nodding  their 
heads  quickly  and 
violently     backward 


THE    WAILING    PLACE   OF    THE   JEWS. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        77 

and  forward,  as  if  they  would  thus  impress 
upon  the  very  air  the  earnestness  of  their 
muttered  prayers. 

Young-  lads  stood  against  the  Temple  wall, 
reading  their  litanies,  and  kissing  the  stones 
from  time  to  time  with  affectionate  reverence. 
The  women  were  more  demonstrative,  and,  as 
they  threw  their  arms  above  their  heads,  they 
wrung  their  hands,  and  wept  bitterly.  Their 
cries  and  sobs  were  echoed  by  a  chorus  of 
mourners,  while  a  hysterical  wave  of  emotion 
passed  through  the  entire  assembly,  that 
swayed  to  and  fro  like  corn  in  the  wind. 

Some  of  the  mourners  knelt  apart,  and,  with 
their  foreheads  pressed  against  the  wall,  worn 
smooth  with  countless  kisses — their  eyes  all 
the  while  pouring  rivers  of  tears  —  they 
appealed  to  those  huge  dumb  blocks  as  pas- 
sionately as  if  they  meant  that  the  very  stones 
should  hear  them  and  reply. 

Small  wicks  floating  in  oil  were  lighted  from 
time  to  time  by  those  who  had  just  joined  the 
wailers.  An  attendant  kept  a  good  supply  of 
these  tapers  on  hand,  and  whoso  gave  him  a 
trifling  fee  was  at  once  served  with  a  feeble 
light;  the  light,  however,  was  left  burning  in 
charge  of  the  attendant. 

A  few  of  the  mourners  stood  apart  or  knelt 
in  silent  meditation ;  a  few  gave  way  to  gfrief 
so  violent  it  seemed  verging  upon  madness 
e 


78        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

and  despair.  All  were  evidently  thoroughly 
in  earnest,  as  they  repeated  over  and  over 
again  this  litany : 


For  the  place  that  lies  desolate, 
For  the  place  that  is  destroyed, 
For  the  walls  that  are  overthrown, 
For  our  majesty  that  is  departed, 
For  our  great  men  who  lie  dead, 
For  the  precious  stones  that  are  burned. 
For  the  priests  who  have  stumbled. 
For  the  kings  who  have  despised  Him, 


s 
»« 


On  every  lip  I  seemed  to  hear  the  name  of 
Jerusalem  said  over  and  over  a  thousand  times ; 
it  was  this  antiphon,  chanted  by  each  in  turn, 
accompanied  by  a  nervous  swaying  of  the 
body,  and  with  a  total  disregard  of  the  sur- 
roundings : 

We  pray  Thee  have  mercy  on  Zion ! 

Gather  the  children  of  Jerusalem. 

Haste,  haste,  Redeemer  of  Zion ! 

Speak  to  the  heart  of  Jerusalem. 

May  beauty  and  majesty  surround  Zion ! 

Ah !  turn  Thyself  mercifully  to  Jerusalem. 

May  the  Kingdom  soon  return  to  Zion ! 

Comfort  those  who  mourn  over  Jerusalem. 

May  peace  and  joy  abide  with  Zion, 

And  the  branch  (of  Jesse)  spring  up  at  Jerusalem ! 

Until  sunset  these  men  and  women  cry  out 
to  the  stones,  beating  their  breasts,  and  weep- 
ing their  tears,  and  some  of  them,  no  doubt, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       79 

believing  that  the  Kingdom  of  David  is  at 
hand.  There  is  not  in  all  Jerusalem  a  scene 
more  thrilling,  though  it  is  repeated  weekly, 
and  has  been  a  custom  from  the  far-distant  day 
of  the  destruction  of  the  glorious  Temple,  and 
may  go  on  to  the  end  of  time;  and  nowhere 
have  I  been  more  deeply  touched  than  in  that 
narrow  court,  under  the  ancient  wall  of  '*the 
holy  and  beautiful  house, ' '  with  the  sun  sink- 
ing upon  the  despair  of  an  outcast  people,  and 
the  air  burdened  with  their  piteous  lamenta- 
tions. 


V. 

IN  THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  OUR  LORD. 

It  is  but  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes'  ride, 
due  south,  to  Ephratah,  which  is  Bethlehem; 
but  it  is  a  hard  ride,  over  a  stony  road,  in  an 
uneasy  saddle,  on  horseback.  You  quit  the 
Jaffa  Gate  full  of  enthusiasm ;  the  morning  air 
is  fresh  and  sweet ;  flowers  bloom  by  the  way- 
side; lizards  slide  over  the  stone  walls  that 
hem  in  great  olive  orchards  on  either  hand. 

Sober  Syrians  greet  you  with  great  dignity 
as  they  pass  on  their  way  to  the  Holy  City. 
An  Arab  with  a  baboon  in  his  arms  halts  in  the 
road  as  you  approach  him,  and  pipes  lustily 
upon  a  reed  flute;  the  baboon  tumbles  over 
and  over  in  the  dust,  uttering  sharp,  shrill 
cries,  half  in  fear  and  half  in  fun.  You  toss 
one  of  the  clumsy  copper  coins  of  the  country, 
bearing  the  monogram  of  the  Sultan,  to  this 
vagabond  pair,  and  go  your  way  rejoicing. 

Monasteries  dot  the  hill-tops,  each  one  hav- 
ing its  shrine,  its  legend,  its  special  grace  in 
the  eyes  of  Latin,  Armenian,  or  Greek.  There 
is  the  house  of  Simeon,  the  just  and  devout 
man,  unto  whom  it  was  revealed  that  he  should 
not  see  death  before  he  had  seen  the  Lord's 
Christ;  and  when  he  saw  the  Child  Jesus,  he 
80 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


8i 


"took  Him  into  his  arms,  and  blessed  God  and 
said:  'Now  Thou  dost  dismiss  Thy  servant,  O 
Lord!  according  to  Thy  word,  in  peace; 
because  mine  eyes 
have  seen  Thy  salva- 
tion, which  Thou  hast 
prepared  before  the 
face  of  all  peoples:  a 
light  of  revelation  to 
the  Gentiles,  and  the 
glory  of  Thy  people 
Israel. ' ' ' 

Yonder  is  the  Well 
of    the   Magi,    over 
which   the   Star 
stood;    and  here 
the   monastery  of 
Mar  (Saint)  Elias, 
the    site   of 
which  is  asso-     - 
ciated  with 
the  Prophet  /^ 
Elijah.  Close  ^ 


at  hand  is 


BETHLEHEM    GATE. 


82        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


well,  where  the  Holy  Family  quenched  their 
thirst ;  and  here  a  field  of  peas.  One  day  Our 
Lord,  passing  this  very  field,  asked  the  hus- 
bandman what  he  was  sowing ;  a  parable  might 
have  followed,  but  the  frivolous  fellow  replied, 
"Stones."  And  lo!  when  the  peas  came  to  be 
gathered,  they  were  all  as  hard  as  bullets,  and 
some  of  them  lie  in  the  field  to  this  day. 

At  a  fork  in  the  road,  where  the  path 
diverges  to  Hebron  and  the  Pools  of  Siloam, 
stands  a  small  domed  building,  that  closely 
resembles  a  sheik's    tomb.      Here    Christian, 

Mohammedan,  and  Jew 
meet   to    pay   common 
_    reverence — if  rever- 
ence it  can  be  called 
which  allows  a  shrine 
to  be 
scored 
-«•    with 

-M'^'::?  ■ '   nificant 
names,  and  left 
desolate  on   the 
bleak  hill-top.  Three 
thousand  five  hun- 
dred years  ago  a  car- 
avan  following   this 
highway  was  stayed  in  the  midst 
of  the  journey,  because  Rachel, 


THE  TOMB  OF  RACHEL. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        83 

the  younger  and  fairer  wife  of  Jacob,  was  seized 
with  birth-pangs.  "So  Rachel  died,  and  was 
buried  in  the  highway  that  leadeth  to  Ephratah, 
which  is  Bethlehem.  And  Jacob  erected  a 
pillar  over  her  sepulchre :  this  is  the  pillar  of 
Rachel's  monument  to  this  day."  A  pillar — a 
very  little  pillar — is  within  the  crumbling 
shrine,  and  the  devout  rest  there  a  moment  on 
the  way  to  Ephratah. 

Let  us  go  hence!  Over  a  hill,  stony  and 
uninviting,  where,  from  the  brow  of  it,  we  see 
a  valley  tilled  and  terraced  to  the  summit  of  its 
high,  steep  walls.  There  the  olive  and  the 
vine  flourish;  corn  waves  in  the  wind;  peace- 
ful flocks  are  feeding  upon  the  sunny  slopes, 
while  youthful  shepherds  pipe  like  young  Pans 
upon  rustic  reeds  fashioned  by  their  own 
fingers. 

Upon  the  edge  of  this  valley  hangs  a  village, 
with  massive  walls,  and  a  few  towers  lifted 
up  against  the  soft  spring  sky.  The  road  we 
are  following  leads  to  a  gateway,  and  is  last 
among  the  narrow  streets  of  the  town.  This  is 
Bethlehem  the  Fruitful,  whose  people  had  of 
yore  their  cornfields,  vineyards,  flocks,  and  a 
famous  cheese  of  their  own  making;  Bethle- 
hem, under  whose  walls  Ruth  lived  and  loved ; 
the  home  of  David  and  Joab;  of  Asahel  and 
Abishai ;  the  town  that  was  fortified  by  Reho- 
boam,  and  restored  by  Justinian,  and  has  again 


84        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

and  again  fought  and  bled  and  died,  as  most  of 
the  towns  on  this  side  of  the  sea  have  done ; 
and  this  it  will  probably  continue  to  do  at 
intervals  so  long  as  it  is  thought  worth  visiting 
by  a  fickle  and  fretful  world. 

Down  in  that  happy  valley,  where  now  the 
shepherds  soothe  their  flocks  with  music,  those 
other  shepherds  were  doing  the  very  same 
thing,  in  the  self-same  costume,  but  turned 
wonderingly  to  listen  to  the  chant  of  the  jubi- 
lant stars,  when  the  Blessed  Babe  lay  in  the 
manger  at  the  farther  end  of  the  town. 

Every  man  sees,  or  seems  to  see,  a  peculiar 
beauty  in  the  women  of  Bethlehem — every 
man,  save  only  myself.  Barring  the  bluer  eyes 
and  the  paler  skin,  what  choice  is  there 
between  women  here  and  women  all  over 
Syria?  Of  course,  your  carpenter  is  a  spe- 
cialty in  the  village ;  he  knows  it  full  well,  and 
poses  just  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world;  not 
that  he  cares  overmuch  for  St.  Joseph,  or  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  or  the  Holy  Babe  in  the 
Manger — these  are  old  stories  with  him,  and 
have  long  since  become  more  or  less  common- 
place— but  because  we  all  look  at  him  with  such 
eyes  as  we  ride  slowly  through  the  unkept 
streets  on  our  way  to  the  Cradle  in  the  rock, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "Did  he  look  like  this  when 
he  sat  at  home  in  peace,  awaiting  the  coming 
glory  of  her  Child?" 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        85 

In  this  wise  you  get  into  Bethlehem,  between 
shops  full  of  palmers'  shells,  and  all  the 
trinkets  of  travel ;  with  shopmen  plucking  you 
by  the  skirts,  and  offering  to  undersell  their 
fellows ;  and  with  one  man,  at  least,  who  pro- 
poses to  tattoo  your  arm  in  memory  of  Bethle- 
hem or  Jerusalem.  Many  are  they  who  submit 
to  the  mild  tortures  of  his  ingenious  needle, 
and  bear  away  with  them  a  crucifix,  or  some 
emblem  of  the  time  and  place,  pricked  into 
their  skin  forever. 

The  great  Church  of  St.  Mary,  within  which 
is  enshrined  the  Holy  Manger,  is  divided  into 
three  sections,  and  distributed  among  the 
Latins,  Armenians,  and  Turks.  It  stands  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  village ;  outwardly  it  is 
like  a  fortress ;  a  little  door  admits  you  quite 
unwillingly.  The  place  has  been  besieged  too 
often  to  think  of  widening  its  threshold  for  the 
love  of  God.  The  Turks  once  moulded  its 
leaden  roof  into  bullets,  with  which  they  drove 
the  Christians  out  of  the  town. 

Within,  all  is  tumult  and  tinsel — ^Vanity  Fair 
housed  within  walls  that  are  sacred,  and  should 
not  be  thus  profaned.  You  grope  down  a 
flight  of  stairs  into  the  crypt,  and  find  it  close, 
hot,  and  gaudily  decorated  in  the  worst  pos- 
sible taste;  there  are  golden  lamps  galore, 
alabaster  panels,  silken  and  velvet  hangings, 
and  showers  of  spangles  that  twinkle  dimly  in 


11  ^ 


;4 

y  t 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       87 

the  perpetual  twilight  of  the  place.  But  all 
these  do  not  make  a  manger  that  the  heart  will 
break  over,  or  eyes  grow  dim  with  looking  on. 

Somewhere  amid  this  splendid  confusion  the 
Crib  that  cradled  the  Divine  Child,  or  at  least 
a  portion  of  that  Crib,  is  hidden  away;  and 
when  your  eyes  beg^n  to  get  accustomed  to 
the  dusk  of  the  grotto — for  the  crypt  is  a 
grotto  in  the  rock — you  search  diligently  and 
as  reverently  as  you  may  from  end  to  end,  but 
are  very  likely  unable  to  make  anything  of 
it;  for  all  is  veiled  in  a  wealth  of  splendid 
trappings. 

But,  as  you  pass  from  comer  to  comer  of  the 
bewildering  little  nook,  a  great  silver  star  is 
suddenly  discovered, — a  great  silver  star,  sunk 
in  the  marble  floor,  under  a  low  arch  of  marble. 
The  soft  rays  of  a  score  of  sumptuous  lamps 
fall  upon  it,  and  flood  the  niche  with  glorious 
light.  You  draw  near  to  it,  filled  with  awe 
and  wonderment ;  you  stoop  to  read  the  legend 
that  is  engraved  about  it;  an  irresistible 
impulse  compels  you  to  your  knees,  and  you 
prostrate  yourself  in  the  radiance  of  those 
golden  lamps  that  swing  just  above  your  head. 
In  the  intense,  the  exquisite,  the  unutterable 
peace  that  reigns  in  that  hallowed  nook,  with 
startled  eyes  you  trace  the  letters  of  the  legend 
over  and  over  again,  before  you  begin  to 
comprehend   them;   and    even   then  it  seems 


88       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

more  a  delusion  than   reality,  for  the  legend 
runs  thus : 

"HIC  DE  VIRGINE  MARIA  JESUS  CHRI3TUS  NATUS  EST." 

How  your  heart  leaps  now  with  a  strange 
joy!  How  your  cheeks  flush  and  grow  pale  by 
turns,  and  your  throat  contracts,  as  if  you  were 
seized  in  the  relentless  grasp  of  the  Angel  of 
Doubt,  who  fears  you  may  forget  yourself,  and 
soften  your  heart  at  last ! 

After  that  you  wander  back  into  the  town, 
slowly,  silently,  solemnly,  caring  to  see  noth- 
ing else,  and  to  hear  nothing,  but  wishing  only 
to  be  left  alone  with  your  thoughts ;  for  you 
were  never  before  so  near  conviction.  And, 
as  you  return  to  Jerusalem  in  the  gloaming, 
with  the  dark  hills  gathering  in  about  you, 
you  say  to  yourself — at  least  I  did — "Lord,  I 
believe :  help  Thou  mine  unbelief ! ' ' 

Going  to  Jericho !  The  animals  at  the  gate 
of  our  convent  in  Jerusalem  were  not  impatient 
on  the  morning  of  our  departure  for  the  Valley 
of  the  Jordan.  These  pilgrim-ridden  beasts 
are  hlasi:  they  know  all  the  holy  shrines  by 
heart,  and  seem  to  have  lost  faith  in  the 
identity  of  most  of  them.  They  have  wasted 
their  youth  and  their  enthusiasm  in  the  sub- 
terranean heat  of  the  valley  of  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah. 

They  know  well  enough  that  the  way  is  long 
and  dry,    the   sim    scorching,    the    provender 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


89 


scarce,  and  the  climb  out  of  the  waste  plains 
terrible ;  and  for  all  this  risk  of  life  and  limb 
they  get  no  backsheesh;  in  fact,  they  expect 
nothing  but  blows  from  the  hour  they  quit 
Jerusalem  until  they  are  again  stalled  within 
its  gates,  at  the  close  of  the  third  or  fourth 
day. 

Three  empty  saddles  were  reserved  for  our 
party, — three  saddles  that  were  threadbare  and 
uncomfortable.     Our  kawwas^  splendidly  capar- 


THE  PLAINS  OF  JERICHO 
AND  THE  DEAD  SEA. 


9©       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

isoned,  stood  bravely  by,  awaiting  our  pleasure, 
at  a  good  hour  in  the  morning.  A  mule  laden 
with  a  pyramid  of  luggage  and  camp  furniture 
— tents,  kettles,  bedding,  provisions,  and  the 
like — had  already  gone  on  in  advance,  under 
the  guidance  of  a  stout  Arab  boy,  who  was 
expected  to  make  most  of  the  journey  on 
foot. 

A  Bedouin  chief — one  of  those  handsomely 
upholstered  fellows  that  are  commonly  known 
as  the  "Children  of  the  Desert" — sat  in  his 
huge  saddle,  and  looked  the  living  image  of  a 
wax-work.  This  gorgeous  creature  had  been 
engaged  at  a  pretty  good  figure,  expressly  to 
protect  us  from  the  charges  of  wild  tribes — the 
dwellers  in  the  black  tents — and  was  himself 
one  of  them.  His  liberal  bribe  was  to  be 
shared  with  his  swarthy  fellows,  a  species  of 
blackmail  which  the  Turkish  Government 
allows,  and  even  encourages. 

Without  our  sheik  to  ride  before  us,  waving 
his  long  spear  in  the  air,  and  casting  from  time 
to  time  a  searching  glance  over  the  desert  hills, 
or  into  the  wild  ravines  of  the  wilderness,  we 
must  surely  have  fallen  by  the  wayside,  and 
been  stripped  not  only  of  our  superfluous  valu- 
ables, but  of  every  vestige  of  clothing.  This 
fate  befell  a  party  of  three  that  had  gone  down 
into  the  wilderness  scarcely  a  fortnight  before 
our  journey,   owing  to    the    treachery  of  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


91 


sheik,  who  piloted  them  only  to  betray  them 
into  the  hands  of  his  lawless  tribe. 

We  left  the  gate  of  the  convent,   under  a 
heavy  shower  of   benedictions  that  fell  from 
the  lips  of  our  cloistered  friends ;  passed  down 
the   Via   Dolorosa  on    foot  —  we 
could  not  think  of  riding  over 
that  sacred  way; — went  out 
at    St.    Stephen's 
where  we  were 
luted  by  the  Turk 
ish     sentinels; 
and  descended 
into  the  edge  of 
the    Moslem 
cemetery,  under 
the  city  wall. 


IN  THE  DESERT. 


92        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Here  we  mounted,  and  dropped  slowly  down 
the  rather  steep  road  into  the  Valley  of  Jehosh- 
aphat,  reaching  the  bed  of  it  in  five  minutes. 

Turning  to  the  right,  at  the  Garden  of 
Gethsemane,  we  followed  the  ancient  road, 
over  the  shoulder  of  Olivet,  above  the  Pool  of 
Siloam.  In  twenty  minutes  we  sighted  a 
small,  mud-colored  village.  A  few  trees  grow 
about  it;  a  few  children,  in  rags  and  tatters, 
ran  out  to  meet  us;  a  few  dogs,  stretched  in 
the  sun  and  the  dust,  lifted  their  lazy  heads 
and  barked  faintly,  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger,  and  dropped  their  heads  again,  to  be 
covered  immediately  by  swai*ms  of  fat,  blue- 
black  flies.  Here  we  drew  rein  for  a  time, 
inasmuch  as  one  of  our  beasts  had  already 
developed  symptoms  of  premature  decay — and 
this  was  the  village  of  Bethany. 

Down  the  road  over  which  we  had  come,  at 
a  moderate  pace,  we  were  shown  the  spot 
where  Judas  hanged  himself;  likewise  the  site 
of  the  withered  fig-tree  which  was  cursed  by 
Our  Lord.  These  were  regarded  in  silence,  for 
we  were  in  no  mood  to  question  the  authenticity 
of  any  shrine  whatever.  Back  went  the 
unworthy  beast,  in  charge  of  our  kazuwas,  while 
we  sat  down  in  the  edge  of  Bethany  to  await 
the  arrival  of  a  substitute. 

Bethany,  "the  house  of  poverty,"  charms 
one  with  its    undisguised    nakedness.      It  is 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.        93 

almost  as  primitive  and  bare  as  an  Arab  vil- 
lage. It  was  the  haunt  of  lepers  in  the  days 
when  those  wretched  outcasts  went  to  and  fro 
among  the  valleys  round  about  Jerusalem,  cry- 
ing, "Unclean!  Unclean!" 

The  house  of  Simon  the  Leper  was  here; 
you  can  see  a  hovel  bearing  that  name  to-day, 
on  payment  of  half  a  franc.  The  home  of 
Martha  and  Mary,  and  the  tomb  of  Lazarus, 
are  still  pointed  out  with  the  one  hand,  while 
the  other  is  extended  in  a  gesture  of  silent 
supplication  that  is  simply  irresistible.  It  was 
here  also — let  us  think  as  lightly  as  we  may  of 
the  possibility  of  identifying  the  exact  spot — it 
was  here  that  the  "alabaster  box  of  ointment," 
"of  spikenard,  of  great  value,"  was  broken, 
and  poured  upon  the  head  of  our  divine  Lord; 
and  here  He  spoke  those  most  precious  of  all 
words:  "I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life: 
he  that  believeth  in  Me,  though  he  were  dead, 
yet  shall  he  live." 

So  passed  the  time  until  the  arrival  of  a 
fresh  horse ;  a  change  of  saddles  all  around — 
for  it  was  discovered  that  no  one  was  quite 
satisfied  at  the  start — and  a  highly  successful 
trial  heat  of  two  or  three  hundred  yards  drove 
all  thoughts  of  Bethany  and  its  associations 
from  our  minds. 

Then  we  hastened  into  a  valley,  where  the 
highway  is  exposed  to  the  assaults  of  thieves 
7 


94       A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

and  robbers ;  it  has  for  ages  been  the  haunt  of 
outlaws,  and  many  a  pilgrim  has  been  left  by 
the  wayside  stripped  and  bleeding,  with  never 
so  much  as  a  good  Samaritan  to  lend  him  a 
helping  hand.  Here  indeed  are  traces  of  an 
ancient  khan,  the  one  secure  halting  place 
between  Jericho  and  Jerusalem  when  this  road 
was  the  chief  thoroughfare  of  the  people.  Not 
far  distant  is  located  the  scene  of  Our  Lord's 
parable ;  the  good  Samaritan  must  have  lodged 
in  this  very  khan. 

The  way  is  dreary  and  desolate;  dust,  sun- 
burnt soil,  a  treeless  range  of  hills  despoiled  of 
every  vestige  of  life  by  swarms  of  insects, 
continually  disenchant  the  eye.  The  few 
trees  that  are  found  in  the  Wady-es-Sidr, 
known  as  the  Zizyphus  spina  Christie  bear  the 
hideous  thorns  with  which  Our  Lord  was 
crowned. 

Farther  on,  deep  in  the  hot  ravines,  is  the 
wilderness  where  Elijah  was  fed  by  the  ravens; 
where  Our  Lord  fasted,  and  was  tempted  by 
the  devil;  and  where  hosts  of  hermits  after- 
ward sought  shelter  and  seclusion  in  the  in- 
numerable caves  and  grottoes  that  honeycomb 
those  barren  hills. 

So  late  as  1874  some  travelers,  climbing 
among  the  caverns  in  the  steep  face  of  Jebel 
Karantel,  found  two  Abyssinian  hermits,  who 
are  said  to  live  permanently  in  their  eyries, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       95 

feeding  only  upon  herbs,  and  poring  over  their 
Ethiopian  breviaries.  There  is  an  ancient 
chapel  up  yonder,  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock ; 
and  some  of  the  hermitages  are  still  adorned 
with  rude,  half -obliterated  frescoes.  All  these 
retreats  are  most  difficult  of  access,  and  only 
the  clearest-headed  and  stoutest  climbers  are 
able  to  reach  them,  with  the  aid  of  ladders, 
ropes,  and  guides. 

From  the  summit  of  Pisgah,  over  against 
Jericho,  one  obtains  the  famous  view  that 
struck  awe  to  the  breast  of  Balaam,  and  joy  to 
the  heart  of  the  great  leader  of  the  children  of 
Israel;  for  "the  Lord  showed  him  all  the  land 
of  Gilead,  unto  Dan,  and  all  Naphtali;  and 
the  land  of  Ephraim  and  Manasseh;  and  all 
the  land  of  Judah,  unto  the  utmost  sea,  and  the 
south,  and  the  plain  of  the  valley  of  Jericho, 
the  city  of  palm  trees,  unto  Zoar. " 

Imagine  the  speechless  delight  of  the  pilgrim 
who  is  to-day  privileged  to 

Climb  where  Moses  stood, 
And  view  the  landscape  o'er! 

Thus  we  cantered  down  the  Jericho  road, 

hour  after  hour — each  hour  hotter  and  drier 

and  dustier  than  the  last.    Our  kawwas^  having 

come  out  of  the  Holy  City,  seemed  to  forget 

for  the  time  his  impressive  dignity,  and  fell  to 

singing  Bedawee  love-songs  at  the  top  of  his 

voice.     They  must  have  been  as  broad  as  they 


96        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

were  long,  for  the  sheik  and  our  youthful 
polyglot — a  graduate  of  the  Oriental  Academy 
of  Vienna,  who  spoke,  read  and  wrote  no  less 
than  nine  languages — having  knowledge  of 
their  meaning,  shrieked  with  laughter,  and 
refused  even  a  modified  version  when  we 
begged  a  reason  for  their  mirthful  blushes. 

A  large,  straggling  caravan  of  poor  Russian 
pilgrims  lined  the  road ;  they  were  going  down 
to  bathe  in  the  Jordan.  Some  rode  diminutive 
donkeys ;  one  or  two  had  horses,  and  a  servant 
to  bear  the  burden  of  the  pilgrimage  in  the 
shape  of  dry  provender;  but  the  majority  of 
them,  men  and  women,  were  on  foot. 

These  Russians  fell  upon  us  tooth  and  nail, 
and  would  have  devoured  us  in  our  camp,  as 
we  were  resting  half-way  on  the  journey,  had 
they  not  been  driven  out  by  the  sheik  and  our 
kawwas,  who  flourished  vigorously  their  lances 
and  glittering  sabres.  Nor  was  this  our  only 
diversion:  my  unlucky  beast  fell  twice  or 
thrice  in  the  dirt;  but  I  grew  used  to  those 
impromptu  collapses;  they  finally  became  no 
more  of  a  surprise  to  me  than  an  "aside"  in  a 
melodrama. 

My  last  descent  was  singularly  brilliant. 
Trotting  on  in  advance  of  the  Russians,  whom 
we  were  sure  to  pass  on  the  road,  though  they 
overtook  us  at  every  halt  we  made,  my  horse 
suddenly  dropped  under  me  with  his  nose  in 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       97 

the  dust ;  he  struggled  to  recover  himself,  and 
I  to  retain  my  seat,  as  is  usual  under  such 
circumstances ;  but  the  effort  was  of  uncommon 
violence,  and  he  burst  his  girth;  my  saddle 
flew  into  fragments ;  I  passed  on  over  a  couple 
of  sharp  ears,  covered  with  dust  and  confusion, 
and  left  the  ruins  in  the  road  to  be  restored  by 
our  guardian  attendants,  who  were  skylarking 
in  the  rear  of  the  train. 

The  rest  of  that  journey  I  made  in  a  shat- 
tered saddle,  bound  to  the  beast  by  a  series  of 
strong  cords  that  were  clumsily  knotted  under 
my  left  leg;  but  these  episodes  are  of  too 
frequent  occurrence  in  Oriental  travel  to  excite 
comment  on  the  spot. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we 
descended  the  last  steep  decline  on  the  border 
of  the  plains  of  Jericho.  The  heat  was 
intense ;  we  had  come  down  out  of  the  chilly 
nights  of  Jerusalem  into  a  tropical  valley,  that 
once  boasted  palm  gardens  and  palaces  the 
most  beautiful  in  the  land.  Now  it  is  bare 
almost  to  nakedness. 

A  long,  winding  grove  of  willows  marks  the 
course  of  a  swift  river  in  the  distance, — it  is 
the  Jordan  that  flows  yonder  under  those 
verdant  boughs.  To  the  right,  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  valley,  is  a  sheet  of  water  so 
exquisitely  blue  that  it  often  seems  as  if  the 
eye  were  piercing  a  deep  purple  gorge,  and 


98        A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

plunging  into  the  fathomless  depths  of  a 
cloudless  summer  sky;  a  mirage  is  not  more 
lovely  or  more  deceptive,  for  that  mirror  of 
paradise  is  the  Dead  Salt  Sea.  But  in  the  fore- 
ground, the  parched  plains  to  the  right  of  us 
and  the  left  of  us,  and  in  the  rear — almost  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  see,  the  land  is  the  abomina- 
tion of  desolation. 

With  pardonable  impatience  we  endeavor  to 
hasten  over  the  stony  plains,  among  stunted 
shrubs,  through  water-courses  that  have  been 
dry  for  ages,  under  the  dismantled  arches  of 
an  antique  aqueduct,  and  from  one  low  ridge 
to  another,  hoping  always  to  reach  in  the  next 
brief  charge  of  our  jaded  beasts  the  enticing 
groves  of  Jericho;  but  those  green  pastures  are 
still  miles  away.  We  are  deceived  by  the  dry 
atmosphere,  that  seems  to  bring  the  distance 
almost  within  our  reach,  and  our  patience 
is  quite  spent  long  before  we  throw  the  bridles 
upon  the  drooping  necks  of  our  horses,  when 
they  at  once  slide  down  to  the  ears  that  sway 
contentedly  over  an  actual  mouthful  of  juicy 
grass. 

While  we  have  been  lingering  and  ex- 
ploring by  the  wayside  much  of  the  day,  our 
muleteer  has  pressed  forward,  and  already  the 
white  cones  of  our  camp  tents  appear  among 
the  delicious  verdure  of  the  trees.  All  about 
us  there  are  luxuriant  figs,  with  large,  fan-like 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       99 


leaves ;  tangles  of  wild  grape-vine ;  the  fragfrant 
and  blooming  Acacia  Farnesiana,  the  "Balm 
of  Gilead,"  and  the  gum-arabic  plant.  It  is 
like  a  hot-house,  that  grove  of  Jericho;  and  no 
wonder,  for  we  are  .-v.^,_.^     nine  hun- 

dred feet  below  the  (^  \    tumbling 


HABITATION  IN  JERICHO, 


lOO      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

waves  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  not  a  breath 
of  air  is  stirring  down  in  that  hollow  of  the 
earth. 

The  faithful  muleteer,  whose  journey  seemed 
only  to  have  increased  his  amiability,  kindled 
a  brisk  fire  under  the  trees,  and  swung  a  kettle 
of  beaf-tea  in  the  fork  of  a  sapling  that  over- 
hung the  coals;  two  or  three  Bedouins  stole 
into  camp  with  eggs,  fruit,  and  milk ;  and  sup- 
per was  soon  under  way. 

As  night  was  drawing  near,  we  went  out 
into  the  squalid  village,  piloted  by  the  sheik, 
who  was  a  chief  of  that  tribe  of  villagers ;  and 
the  kawivas,  who  was,  out  of  Jerusalem,  merely 
a  heavy  Syrian  swell.  Snarling  dogs  received 
us  with  a  chorus  as  we  struck  through  a  hedge 
of  thorns  and  cacti ;  then  half  the  town  sent  up 
a  shout  of  welcome,  mingled  with  reproofs 
addressed  to  the  clamorous  curs  that  by  this 
time  had  surrounded  us.  The  dogs  were 
finally  beaten  off  by  our  attendants ;  a  few  fine- 
looking,  half-naked  fellows  advanced  to  meet 
us,  and  we  entered  modern  Jericho  in  solemn 
state. 

There  are  about  sixty  families,  small  in 
stature,  slender,  under-fed,  miserably  clad, 
with  dark,  sun-burnt  skins,  and  blue  lips  cov- 
ered with  tattooed  tracery,  dwelling  in  the 
mud  huts  of  the  village.  The  old  men  go  up 
into  the  wilderness  round  about,  and  lie  in  wait 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT,      loi 

for  pilgrims;  the  young  men  lead  the  flocks 
over  the  smoking  plains,  setting  forth  at  day- 
break, and  returning  to  the  fold  at  dusk.  The 
women  bring  water  from  Elisha's  Spring,  near 
which  stood  the  house  of  Rahab — she  who 
sheltered  the  spies  of  Joshua.  They  walk  to 
and  fro  in  the  village  streets,  these  weird 
women,  clad  in  tattered  and  soiled  robes,  but 
with  the  pride  of  sultanas,  every  one  of  them ; 
the  children  lie  with  the  lazy  dogs,  and  share 
the  vermin. 

Even  the  bewitching  twilight  cannot  embel- 
lish the  wretchedness  of  Jericho;  it  is  more 
primitive  than  the  poorest  Egyptian  village 
that  has  yet  come  under  my  eye.  The  wasps 
build  better;  ground-squirrels  and  prairie- 
dogs  are  much  cozier  m  their  little  cellars. 

The  only  bit  of  architecture  left  to  modern 
Jericho  is  a  solitary  square  tower,  which  marks 
the  site  of  Gilgal — if  we  may  abide  by  the  sup- 
position of  a  half-dozen  experienced  guessers. 
It  stands  on  a  slight  elevation,  somewhat  apart 
from  the  village,  and  looks  very  lonesome 
indeed,  as  the  twilight  settles  deep  down  into 
this  wonderful  valley. 

Half  the  town  followed  us  back  to  camp. 
We  sought  shelter  within  our  tents,  where 
there  were  Persian  rugs  underfoot,  striped 
draperies  overhead,  curtains  festooned  about 
us,  and  more  furniture  than  we  had  any  use 


102      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

for.  This  is  the  way  one  travels  in  Syria: 
with  a  portable  hotel  at  his  heels,  and  a 
magical  larder  mysteriously  making  its 
appearance  at  meal  hours. 

Jericho  boasts  but  one  remembrancer  of  her 
voluptuous  past — her  maids,  lithe,  blue-lipped, 
shrill-voiced,  and  tireless,  who  dance  under  the 
starlight  before  the  camp  so  long  as  the  pil- 
grim suffers  them  in  patience.  A  few  pieces 
of  silver,  a  flask  of  wine,  and  they  renew  their 
snake-like  posturing,  and  pitch  their  fierce 
cries  a  note  higher. 

Two  of  these  Ghawazy  beguiled  us  for  an 
hour.  Our  nargilehs  were  kindled,  and  placed 
upon  mats  before  us;  the  pliant  stem,  a 
fathom  long,  was  gracefully  uncoiled  and 
pressed  to  our  expectant  lips;  then  we  drew 
deep  sighs  of  satisfaction  from  the  bowl,  where 
the  rose  water  bubbled  audibly,  and  took  on  a 
tinge  of  amber  as  the  smoke  passed  through  it, 
losing  both  heat  and  oil  in  the  process.  Of 
course  we  no  longer  thought  of  journeying 
without  our  pipes,  our  pouches,  and  our  pastils 
for  keeping  the  bowl  alight,  wherewith  to 
complete  the  earthly  happiness  which  has  been 
grossly  misrepresented  by  the  cynics. 

The  camp  was  thronged  with  Bedouins,  a 
thievish  lot,  whose  reputation  is  evil.  We  sat 
against  our  tents,  in  the  starlight  and  the 
firelight,   on  carpets  that  were  like   beds  of 


BEDOUIN  ENCAMPMENT. 


down  buried  in  the  rich  grass 
that  grew  within  the  grove. 

On  either  hand  squatted  the 
sheik  and  the  kawivas,  ever  with 
an  eye  single  to  our  comfort.  A 
train  of  shepherd  lads,  clad  in 
tunics  of  coarse  camel's  hair, 
skipped  and  clapped  their 
hands  wildly,  keeping  time  to 
a  barbaric  and  monotonous 
chant.  Two  dancers,  whose  dark-blue  robes 
flowed  about  them,  falling  from  the  shoulders 
to  the  feet  with  classic  grace,  raised  their  bare 
arms  above  their  heads,  and  swung  their  bodies 
to  and  fro  with  great  spirit  and  astonishing 
freedom.  They  seized  the  sabres  of  our  guards, 
and  whirled  the  flashing  blades  in  the  firelight, 
cutting  the  air  savagely  and  seeming  to  slaugh- 

103 


I04      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

ter  hosts  of  imaginary  innocents,  with  a  fiendish 
joy  that  was  positively  blood-curdling. 

At  intervals  these  furies  threw  back  their 
heads,  and  uttered  a  long,  piercing  cry,  that 
pricked  the  ear  like  a  poniard.  They  rushed 
toward  us,  and,  crouching  down  at  our  side, 
stabbed  us  through  the  brain  with  this  two- 
edged  shriek.  They  caught  it  in  their  throats, 
and  strove  to  hold  it  back;  but  it  struggled, 
and  shook,  and  forced  its  way  out,  thinner  and 
sharper  and  more  exquisitely  painful  than 
before.  I  heard  the  scream  of  the  sabre- 
dancers  of  Jericho  long  after  I  had  slept.  I 
think  it  summoned  me  suddenly  out  of  my 
dream,  for  I  saw  the  firelight  smoldering 
near  the  flap  of  my  tent,  and  the  guards 
crouching  over  the  embers,  while  the  dew  was 
falling,  and  the  night  grew  damp  and  chill. 

Above  us  the  brilliant  stars  gloated  over  the 
accursed  valley  that  is  laid  waste  forever.  It 
is  written  of  him  that  shall  seek  to  rebuild  the 
city :  ' '  He  shall  lay  the  foundations  thereof  in 
his  first-born,  and  in  his  youngest  son  shall  he 
set  up  the  gates  of  it. " 

In  the  cool  of  the  dawn  I  fancied  that  the 
odors  of  the  balsamic  gardens  visited  us,  and  I 
heard  leafy  whisperings  among  the  boughs  of 
the  citron  and  the  date  and  the  pomegranate 
trees.  I  seemed  to  see  the  blossoming  ave- 
nues that  once  skirted  the  royal  city — the  city 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       105 


which  Antony  gave  to  Cleopatra,  and  which 
she  sold  for  pin  money.  Herod  bought  it,  and 
died  in  it.  And  just  in  the  edge  of  the  town 
one  Zaccheus  climbed  into  a 
tree,  that  his  eyes  might  be- 
hold his  Lord  and  Master; 
and  he  was  called  down 
out  of  the  branches, 
and  chosen  to  be  the 
host  of  Him  who  there- 


after went  up  out 
of  the  doomed  city 
into  Jerusalem,  to 
His  glorious  and 
triumphant 
death. 

To  recall  all 
this  as  I  pen  it 
in  my  window- 
seat  is  as 
pleasant  as 
it  is  profit- 
able to  the 
heart  a 
the  soul 
of  me; 
but  I 


A   SWORD- DANCER   OF  JERICHO. 


THE  JORDAN. 


remember  that  on  the  night  in  question  I  was 
uncommonly  restless,  and  in  perpetual  fear  of 
an  inundation  of  creeping  and  crawling  things. 
Therefore,  O  friend!  think  thrice  before  you 
wish  your  enemy  in  Jericho! 

While  it  was  still  dark  I  arose,  and  stretched 
myself  under  the  noiseless  boughs,  heavy  with 
dripping  dew;  the  flashing  stars  seemed  to 
discharge  arrows  of  light,  that  slid  through 
the  violet-tinted  air,  and  dissolved  away  in 
space. 

Our  camp-fire  was  out;  the  guards  slept 
audibly,  rolled  in  their  ample  cloaks  of  camel's 
hair  striped  with  brown  and  buff.  The  ani- 
mals alone  seemed  impatient;  not  that  they 
were  eager  to  resume  a  journey,  which  was  no 
doubt,  in  their  estimation,  an  altogether 
unnecessary  and  inexcusable  weariness  of  the 

ie6 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       107 

flesh,  but  because  the  rheumatic  chill  which 
was  in  the  air  was  slowly  penetrating  the  very 
marrow  of  their  bones. 

I  felt  that  dawn  was  fully  due,  and,  yawning 
to  some  purpose,  the  camp  awoke ;  the  guards 
stirred  the  dead  embers,  and  blew  up  a  cheer- 
ful flame ;  our  mats  were  spread  beside  it ;  the 
nargileh  was  primed,  and  crowned  with  a  liv- 
ing coal ;  the  coffee-pot  swung  over  the  blaze, 
and  the  muleteer  was  dispatched  into  the  still 
slumbering  village,  nest-hunting,  and  with  a 
prayer  and  a  backsheesh  for  a  flagon  of  goat's 
milk. 

Long  before  the  day  was  fairly  ushered  in, 
while  the  East  was  still  faint  and  pale,  and  the 
stars  as  brilliant  as  ever,  we  struck  camp,  and 
set  out  for  the  banks  of  the  Jordan.  It  is  a 
little  over  an  hour's  ride  from  Jericho,  but  we 
dreaded  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  knew  that 
many  a  scorching  mile  lay  between  us  and 
sunset. 

All  Jericho  was  up  betimes,  and  the  whole 
town  cried  out  with  one  voice:  ''''Backsheesh! 
backsheesh!  yaJi  Hadji!''  As  we  were  called 
Hawadji,  or  merchant,  in  Egypt — for  there  one 
travels  to  purchase  goods  or  dispose  of  them, 
and  is  therefore  a  merchant — so  here  we  were 
hailed  as  Hadji,  or  pilgrim.  In  the  Holy  Land 
all  are  pilgrims;  the  distinction  is  reasonable, 
and  rather  flattering  to  the  ear  of  the  devout 


lo8      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

traveler,  until  he  becomes  accustomed  to  it, 
and  is  finally  driven  mad  with  the  persistency 
of  the  beggar-tribes. 

The  trail  from  Jericho  to  the  ford  of  the 
Jordan  winds  through  groves  of  tamarisk, 
laurustinus,  mimosa,  and  willow.  There  is 
often  a  broad  belt  of  jungle,  through  which  it 
is  difficult  to  pass  without  being  seized  by  the 
sharp  and  enormous  thorns  of  the  spina  Christi; 
but  we  could  sometimes  dash  forward  through 
the  interstices;  and  it  was  exhilarating  in  the 
extreme — the  brisk  gallop  in  the  cool  dawn  on 
our  way  to  the  sacred  stream. 

I  fear  we  were,  one  and  all,  a  little  impatient 
at  our  lack  of  adventure;  thus  far,  into  the 
bowels  of  a  land  overrun  by  a  wild  and 
treacherous  race,  we  had  cantered  on  hour 
after  hour,  with  no  more  serious  interruption 
than  the  frequent  stumbling  of  our  beasts,  and 
the  destruction  of  my  saddle.  Other  travelers 
have  been  stripped  and  beaten ;  nearly  every 
writer  within  my  knowledge  seems  to  have 
drawn  a  bead  on  the  first  bush  that  shook  a 
berry  at  him,  and  to  have  enjoyed  to  the  full 
the  exquisite  agony  of  suspense.  I  confess,  to 
my  utter  humiliation  at  the  thought,  that  from 
the  hour  we  left  Jerusalem  until  we  returned 
again  within  her  gates,  we  plodded  through 
the  worst  districts  of  the  enemy's  country 
without  even  a  hint  of  danger.     The  lions  of 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       109 

Jeremiah  have  departed;  the  crocodile  is 
extinct ;  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  dreaded 
at  this  late  day  than  the  mosquito,  and  he  is  a 
bore. 

In  every  fresh  grove  we  entered  we  hoped 
to  come  suddenly  upon  the  Jordan;  we 
listened  for  the  ripple  of  waters,  and  heard 
nothing  but  the  hollow  echo  of  thick-falling 
hoofs  as  they  struck  the  claj'^-crust  of  the 
plains.  At  last  our  kawwas  gave  us  a  little 
thrill  of  emotion  by  crying  out  that  we  were 
nearing  the  river.  I  wondered  what  it  was 
like — its  breadth,  its  color.  It  then  seemed  to 
me  that  I  had  never  read  anywhere  a  passage 
descriptive  of  the  stream.  Of  course  I  had, 
and  had  forgotten  it,  as  one  forgets  ninety- 
nine  hundredths  of  one's  general  reading;  but 
I  could  not  at  the  moment  picture  the  stream 
that  we  were  so  soon  to  see. 

The  trees  grew  larger  and  stood  apart, 
stretching  out  wide  branches,  that  were  full  of 
glittering  gold  as  we  rode  under  them;  for  the 
sun  was  just  rising  over  the  mountains  of 
Moab,  and  the  hour  was  glorious  beyond  com- 
pare. 

The  grove  was  like  a  bit  of  park  land, 
trimmed,  and  swept  clean;  a  spot  to  camp  in 
and  luxuriate  in,  and  to  love  nature  in  with  a 
hearty  and  loyal  love.  A  hedge  of  willows 
bordered     this    grove     on    the    farther    side; 


no      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

through  it  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  rushing  and 
sparkling  waters ;  we  heard  the  joyous  waves 
as  they  danced  onward  under  the  canopy  of 
foliage,  and  the  sound  can  only  be  compared  to 
the  very  sparkle  of  the  stream.  Yes !  you  can 
actually  hear  the  waters  sparkle ;  the  glee,  the 
freshness,  the  freedom,  and  the  jubilant  life  of 
that  tumbling  torrent  I  have  never  seen 
equaled  elsewhere.  This  was  the  swift  Jor- 
dan, hurrying  down  to  smother  itself  in  the 
gfummy  depths  of  the  Dead  Sea. 

We  were  upon  the  sloping  shore  at  the  most 
famous  ford  of  the  river;  it  was  about  thirty 
yards  to  the  opposite  bank.  Willows  grow 
close  to  the  water's  edge,  and  shut  out  the 
view  at  the  first  turn  a  few  rods  below  the 
ford.  Some  of  the  pendulous  boughs  trail  in 
the  water,  and  are  caught  again  and  again 
by  the  tossing  waves,  and  dragged  along  in 
the  impetuous  current ;  but  they  spring  back  a 
moment  later,  and  dash  the  water  from  their 
leaves  in  showers  of  spray,  as  they  once  more 
begin  coquetting  with  the  tide. 

The  Jordan  is  about  the  color  of  a  new  slate 
— a  slate  with  the  grayish-green  cloud  still  cov- 
ering its  surface.  Its  waters  are  opaque,  thick- 
ened with  clay,  but  delicious  in  temperature, 
and  very    refreshing  to    a    pilgrim's    palate. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  river  rushes  like  a 
mill-race?    From  its  source  to  its  mouth,  one 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       m 

hundred  and  thirty  miles  in  a  bee-line,  it 
descends  three  thousand  feet.  Its  very  name, 
Yarden^  in  Hebrew  signifies  descent.  It  twists 
and  turns  until  it  has  trebled  the  natural  dis- 
tance from  fountain  to  sea.  It  rises  in  its 
might,  and  covers  the  broad  plains,  while  the 
flocks  and  herds  that  love  to  feed  beside  it  flee 
affrighted  unto  the  hills. 

You  cannot  bridge  it ;  often  you  can  not  ford 
it ;  thrice  were  the  waters  miraculously  parted 
in  the  old  miraculous  days,  that  the  prophet 
might  pass  over  it  dryshod.  Not  far  from  the 
spot  we  stood  upon,  St.  Christopher  stemmed 
the  tide,  with  the  Christ-Child  in  his  arms; 
and  at  this  very  point  the  Savior  of  men  was 
baptized  by  St.  John  the  Baptist,  after  the  fast 
of  forty  days  up  in  the  wilderness  yonder.  O 
River,  of  all  rivers  most  blessed!  out  of  a 
cloud  came  the  mystical  white  Dove,  and  hov- 
ered above  thy  shores. 

If  the  waters  of  the  Jordan  were  magfical 
they  could  hardly  exercise  a  more  potent  spell ; 
instinctively  we  dr^w  apart  among  the  willows, 
disrobed  with  no  little  solemnity,  and,  with 
the  fresh  air  of  the  morning  breathing  sweetly 
upon  us,  we  passed  into  the  cleansing  flood. 
There  was  life  in  every  drop  of  that  water — 
new  life,  full  of  strength  and  health  and  hope; 
it  was  a  bath  of  the  soul ! 

While  we  were  wading  cautiously  near  the 


112      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

shore,  and  sometimes  sitting  down  on  the  clay- 
bottom,  to  get  as  much  of  the  water  with  as 
little  of  the  current  as  possible,  we  were 
startled  by  a  crashing  of  underbrush,  and  the 
thunder  of  many  feet.  I  thought  of  Warbur- 
ton,  Kinglake,  Dixon,  and  all  those  lucky  fel- 
lows who  were  continually  having  hair-breadth 
escapes  when  they  were  in  the  Holy  Land — 
and  I  was  glad !  Who  would  not  willingly  per- 
ish in  the  Jordan,  if  perish  he  must?  Our 
frightened  animals  were  upon  the  point  of 
stampeding,  and  we  arose  in  the  midst  of  the 
waves  to  receive  the  lost  tribe  that  had  thus 
unexpectedly  come  in  from  the  wilderness.  In 
a  moment  our  enthusiasm  was  blighted ;  out  of 
the  bush  emerged  the  Russian  pilgrims  in  hot 
haste,  and  made  for  the  shore  where  we  were 
bathing. 

Each  strove  to  be  the  first  to  plunge  into  the 
stream;  many  of  them  were  already  half- 
undressed,  and  they  all  speedily  stripped,  put 
on  a  long  white  garment — a  kind  of  shroud, 
which  they  are  to  preserve  for  their  burial  robe 
— and,  having  immersed  themselves  with  more 
or  less  decorum,  they  took  it  off,  folded  it 
carefully,  and  put  it  away  in  their  little  bun- 
dles of  luggage.  We  were  actually  driven 
from  the  place  by  those  enthusiasts.  A  great 
trial  to  our  polyglot. 

Then  we  wandered    up-stream,  under  airy 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       "3 

vine-arbors  and  tangles  of  bristling  thorn, 
through  deep  beds  of  fern,  and  fragrant, 
flowering  creepers.  There  was  a  rich  growth 
of  timber,  and,  reaching  an  exceedingly  wild 
and  picturesque  nook  in  a  bend  of  the  river, 
we  took  our  morning  meal.  Great  cliffs,  steep 
and  rugged,  towered  above  us;  the  stream 
came  gushing  out  of  a  gorge,  rejoicing  that  its 
course  was  well-nigh  run;  at  any  rate,  it  was 
rejoicing  with  exceeding  great  joy,  and  never 
heart-fed  artery  of  the  human  frame  throbbed 
with  more  palpable  life. 

Refreshed,  stayed  with  apples  which  were 
not  of  Sodom,  comforted  with  flagons  spicy  and 
cool,  we  once  more  mounted  our  long-suffering 
steeds,  and  set  out  on  an  hour's  gallop  to  the 
Dead  Sea. 

We  passed  the  Russians,  who  gave  us  no 
very  civil  greeting;  they  had  donned  their 
earthly  garments,  and  were  returning  over  the 
old  road  to  Jerusalem.  The  Dead  Sea  was 
nothing  to  them;  each  bore  in  his  meagre 
bundle  his  death-shroud,  damp  with  Jordan 
waters;  and  this  was  a  consolation  for  them 
all.  They  had  finished  the  round  of  their 
experiences,  they  had  fought  the  good  fight 
according  to  the  best  of  their  ability — it  was  a 
hard  fight  in  some  cases — and  now  they  were 
ready  to  begin  their  homeward  journey  by  land 
and  sea ;  a  journey  long  and  perilous,  and  one 


THE  DEAD   SEA 


that  is   sel-^  '^ 

dom  taken  ^^ 
without  almost  over- 
whelming impediments 
— fever,  famine,  griev- 
ous fatigue ;  unsheltered  from  the  tempestuous 
elements  in  the  extremes  of  heat  and  cold; 
making  their  bed  with  poverty  and  vermin, 
and  with  death  plucking  them  from  the  ranks 
on  the  highways,  or  in  the  midst  of  the  desert 
wastes.  Surely  the  fervor  and  the  fortitude  of 
these  miserable  devotees  should  secure  for 
them  the  reward  they  so  much  covet — Chris- 
tian burial,  and  heavenly  rest. 

We  reveled  in  a  rapid  jaunt  over  the  parched 
plains,  with  the  fresh  air  of  the  morning 
saluting  our  nostrils.  Much  of  the  way  we 
followed  the  Jordan  bank,  and  were  somewhat 
shielded  by  the  foliage  that  fringes  it.  All 
this  time,  though  we  could  have  leaped  into 
the  stream  with  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump,  we 
caught  only  occasional  glimpses  of  the  rushing 
waters  as  they  dashed  gaily  above  the  steep 

"4 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       115 

clay  banks,  or  flashed  for  a  moment  in  the 
green  arches  of  the  willow  copse. 

The  current  was  often  broken  by  tiny  islets 
crowded  with  bushes,  and  the  frequent  rapids 
and  abrupt  turns  in  the  stream  amazed  me.  I 
am  still  puzzled  to  know  how  an  American 
expedition,  some  years  ago,  succeeded  in 
bringing  two  metal  boats  down  the  river  from 
Tiberias  to  the  Dead  Sea.  Of  course,  the 
intrepid  MacGregor,  with  his  little  "Rob  Roy" 
canoe,  skated  over  the  ripples  like  a  water  bug, 
and  came  out  in  book  form,  with  fl)n[ng  colors; 
but  the  astonishing  vitality  of  the  Jordan 
waters,  the  jubilant  dance  of  those  sparkling 
cascades,  are  enough  to  startle  any  one  but  the 
most  ardent  and  reckless  of  aquatic  sportsmen. 

Until  we  are  actually  upon  the  shore  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  ploughing  through  pebbles  and  soft 
sand,  we  strained  our  eyes  in  vain  toward  the 
valley  of  death,  eager  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  its 
bitter  flood.  Our  trail  wound  through  a  dense 
growth  of  cane,  oleander,  cactus,  and  tamarisk ; 
we  trotted  over  the  baked  soil,  Indian  file, 
thinking  of  the  wild  boars,  wolves,  jackals,  and 
leopards  that  prowl  in  the  vale  of  Gilgal — the 
vale  that  of  old  was  compared  to  the  "Garden 
of  the  Lord." 

We  saw  nothing,  not  even  a  vulture ;  though 
no  panorama  of  the  Dead  Sea  is  complete 
without  the  shadow  of  his  wings  darkening  the 


Ii6      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

canvas ;  and  probably  an  angry  cloud,  of  mid- 
night blackness,  out  of  which  tongues  of  fire 
dart  upon  the  "submerged  cities  of  sin,"  will 
be  found  brooding  over  the  sombre  tableau. 
Such  I  used  to  imagine  it,  but  in  its  stead  I 
now  recall  this  picture:  Two  lofty  mountain 
walls;  rugged,  outlining  grotesque,  gigantic 
forms,  and  stretching  far  away  into  the  limit- 
less distance,  where  they  dissolve  in  a  luminous 
haze;  a  sea  of  living  sapphire,  more  lovely 
than  any  sea,  save  that  which  bathes  the 
enchanted  Vesuvian  coast;  a  shelving  beach, 
sparkling  with  pebbles,  silvered  with  salt 
crystals,  and  cushioned  with  dazzling  sand, 
that  seems  to  creep  and  scintillate  in  the 
intense  heat  of  the  noonday  sun. 

A  few  gaunt  and  stunted  shrubs  stand  near 
the  forsaken  shore;  a  few  broken  boughs, 
white  and  shining  like  gnawed  bones,  bestrew 
the  beach.  Not  a  living  thing  visible  above 
or  about  us;  not  a  living  or  breathing  thing 
within  the  pellucid  chambers  of  that  fatal  sea. 
Oily  ripples  slide  noiselessly  over  the  sands, 
and  sink  back  again  into  the  depths,  as  if 
dragged  thither  by  the  contraction  of  the 
elastic  and  unbroken  surface  of  the  sea. 

Shore,  sea,  and  sky  are  melted  into  a 
chimera  of  unearthly  beauty;  the  sky  is  not 
more  profoundly  blue  than  the  watery  abyss 
that  separates  those  rosy  hills  to  the  east  and 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       117 

west.  There  is  no  palpable  surface  there,  no 
visible  division  of  the  elements ;  let  it  be  air  or 
water — it  might  be  either — the  single  impres- 
sion it  conveys  to  the  mind  is  one  of  pure 
color.  Only  such  radiant  hills  as  those  that 
girdle  it  are  worthy  of  it ;  they  also  are  mar- 
vels of  color:  pink  and  pale  in  the  twilight, 
scarlet  in  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun; 
they  never  become  commonplace,  but  change 
their  tints  as  a  live  coal  changes  when  the  reviv- 
ing air  blows  softly  upon  it. 

Out  of  the  splendid  distance,  over  the  Salt 
Sea,  the  Sea  of  Asphalt,  the  Lake  of  Lot — call 
it  by  what  name  you  will,  it  bears  all  these — 
over  the  Eastern  Sea  of  the  old  prophets,  stole 
the  withering  breath  of  a  furnace.  Our  poor 
beasts  sweltered  and  swayed  dizzily ;  there  was 
no  possible  shelter  near  the  shore,  for  our 
camp  trappings  had  already  gone  up  into  the 
wilderness.  A  dip  in  the  glutinous  water  was 
all  we  asked  now,  and  in  ten  minutes  we  stood 
upon  the  sand,  that  burnt  like  a  bed  of 
cinders,  and  were  half  blinded  by  the  glare 
that  nearly  overcame  us  before  we  were  well 
out  of  it. 

The  sea  near  the  plains  of  the  Jordan  is 
shallow.  Looking  toward  the  south,  the  eye 
is  lost  in  the  profound  mist  that  envelops  the 
farther  shore.  Here  are  six  and  forty  miles  of 
sky-blue   crystal    in  one   solid  mass,   thirteen 


Il8      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

hundred  feet  in  depth,  and  the  burnished  sur- 
face of  which  is  thirteen  hundred  feet  below 
the  level  of  the  Mediterranean. 

This  sea  is  a  mystery  and  a  miracle;  but 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah  are  not  buried  under 
these  waves,  as  many  a  good  man  fondly 
fancies.  One  must  look  elsewhere  for  the 
sites  of  those  sinful  cities — perhaps  among  the 
sulphur  fields ;  the  pillars  of  salt,  that  are  very 
numerous  in  that  part  of  the  country ;  and  the 
asphaltum  beds,  that  generate  a  heat  almost 
sufficient  to  consume  a  fireproof  city. 

Neither  fish,  shell,  nor  coral  are  found  here ; 
sea-fish  perish  in  these  waters,  because  they 
have  been  reared  on  something  less  than  four 
per  cent  of  salt  to  ninety-six  of  water;  and 
here  a  fourth  part  of  the  whole  consists  of  a 
solution  of  various  salts — chlorides  of  magne- 
sium, calcium,  sodium,  potassium,  bromide  of 
potassium,  and  sulphate  of  iron. 

There  are  fish-bones  on  the  shore,  the  jetsam 
of  the  Jordan;  the  bitter  oil — it  is  hardly 
worthy  of  the  name  of  water — that  strangles 
every  living  thing  to  death,  and  then  spews  it 
out  to  bleach  in  the  sun — the  oily  sea  invites 
you  to  its  embrace  with  a  siren  charm;  but 
you  curse  her  after  the  first  joy  is  over,  for 
she  daubs  you  with  salt  and  grease. 

Six  million  tons  of  sweet  water  fall  into  the 
Dead  Sea  daily;    six    million    rise  out  of   it, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       119 

spiritualized,  and  float  over  it  in  nebulous 
islands  of  light.  On  the  bosom  of  the  phantom 
sea  sleep  shadow-islands,  the  reflections  of 
these  clouds;  again  and  again  you  ask  your- 
self, are  they  real,  the  clouds  and  the  shadows  in 
the  sky  and  sea,  or  is   it  all  a  beautiful  illusion? 

When  we  waded  into  the  water,  we  felt  the 
weight  of  it  before  we  had  got  knee-deep ;  soon 
we  grew  buoyant,  and  kept  our  balance  with 
some  difficulty;  a  few  steps  farther,  and  over 
we  went,  heels  up,  and,  to  our  surprise,  heads 
up  likewise.  The  bath  was  certainly  most 
refreshing,  and  the  novelty  of  it  not  unlike  a 
good-natured,  practical  joke.  The  Dead  Sea 
does  well  enough  for  a  change  of  medicine — it 
is  as  bitter  as  gall — but  I  would  as  soon  think 
of  trying  to  swim  in  a  strong  solution  of 
feather-beds. 

The  sun  soon  drove  us  to  the  shore,  where 
we  discovered  that  we  were  without  a  drop  of 
fresh  water ;  we  had  forgotten  to  replenish  our 
store  while  we  might  have  obtained  it  in 
abundance  at  the  passage  of  the  Jordan;  and 
when  we  had  clothed  ourselves,  and  struck  out 
for  the  wilderness,  our  skins  burned  like  fire, 
and  we  shed  flakes  oi  salt,  in  such  profusion 
that  you  might  easily  have  mistaken  us  for 
lineal  descendants  of  Lot. 

We  crept  out  of  the  Valley  of  the  Jordan, 
swathed  to  the  eyes  in  cloaks  of  coarse  camel's 


I20      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


hair.  You  would  have  thought  us  smothering 
in  the  voluminous  folds  of  this  Bedouin  gar- 
ment; but  the  truth  is,  we  were  comparatively 
comfortable ;  for  the  sun  cannot  penetrate  the 
thick  web  of  homely  homespun,  and  5'our 
Bedouin  scout  will  brave  the  fierce  furnace- 
heat  of  the  desert  under  the  shelter  and  the 
shadow  of  this  one  clumsy  robe. 

We  were  not  long  in  the  bed  of  the  valley 
before  we  started  the  partridge, 
the  wild    pigeon,    and    the   hare 
from   cover;   and  had  a   shot  or 
two,  that,  however,  brought 
us  nothing  more  substantial 
than  a  sharp  echo,  shattered 
to  fragments  in  the  gorges 
of  the  mountains  close  at 
hand. 

If  a  curse  hangs  over 
the  plains  of  Jericho, 
withering  the  rose 
thereof,  and  stuffing 
the  plump  apples  of 
Sodom  with  dry  dust, 
it  is  nothing  in  compari- 
iSon  with  the  eternal 
blight  that  sears  the 
Judean  wilderness  as 
with  fire.  Never  so 
much  as    a    blade  of 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       121 

grass  pricks  through  the  parched  and  gaping 
crust,  that  crumbles  under  the  hoof  like  plaster. 
Mountains  of  chalk,  sand,  gypsum,  chert,  and 
tufa,  gashed  and  scarred,  and  cut  down  to  the 
quick  by  fierce  winter  torrents ;  tumbled  hither 
and  thither  by  unrecorded  but  terrible  convul- 
sions of  nature;  deserted  by  every  lovely  form 
of  life;  the  haunt  of  the  fox,  the  vulture,  the 
hyena,  the  leopard,  and  the  wolf;  with  the 
snake  coiling  in  the  sun,  and  hissing  in  the 
shadow  of  the  caves  that  everywhere  perforate 
the  abrupt  walls  of  the  gorges — this  is  the 
wilderness  of  St.  John  the  Baptist! 

Here  he  fed  on  locusts  and  wild  honey,  and 
dwelt  apart  among  the  caves,  clad  in  a  shirt  of 
camel's  hair — even  the  garment  that  is  worn 
to-day  by  the  children  of  the  children  of  the 
children  of  Esau,  the  Bedouin. 

All  through  the  desolate  land  of  Judea  the 
wandering  tribes  of  the  desert  pitch  their  black 
tents.  They  nourish  their  scanty  flocks  upon 
such  edible  litter  as  falls  in  the  track  of  the 
caravans ;  stealing  noiselessly  in  and  out  among 
the  stifling  ravines;  creeping  slowly  and  sus- 
piciously over  the  ridges ;  watching  every  rock 
that  is  big  enough  to  shelter  a  robber,  and 
keeping  a  nervous  finger  on  the  lock  of  an 
antique  musket,  with  a  barrel  seven  feet  long. 

Up,  up,  and  still  up,  we  climb.  Flat  step- 
ping-stones afford  us  insecure  footing ;  for  they 


122      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

are  as  smooth  as  glass,  and  our  animals  are 
beginning  to  flag  in  the  relentless  heat.  It  is 
not  only  the  flame  of  the  sun  that  pours  down 
upon  us  from  dawn  to  dark,  but  the  oven-like 
crust  under  foot  sends  up  a  glow  so  intense 
that  objects  at  a  little  distance  seem  to  dance  in 
it;  and  the  eyes,  shut  against  the  garish  light, 
sting  with  a  sharp  agony. 

We  followed  the  painful  track  of  the  Kedron. 
Had  the  valley,  or  gap,  been  burned  out  by  a 
torrent  of  fire,  instead  of  gutted  by  water,  it 
would  scarcely  have  presented  a  more  forbid- 
ding spectacle.  We  descended  into  the  fright- 
ful gorge,  and  followed  the  dry  bed  of  the 
stream  for  some  distance;  we  turned  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left,  and  often  lost  sight  of  one 
another  for  a  few  moments,  during  which 
time  we  began  to  realize  the  unspeakable 
loneliness  of  the  wilderness. 

The  fissure  of  the  Kedron,  half  a  thousand 
feet  in  depth,  and  very  narrow,  has  been  the 
haunt  of  hermits  and  pious  solitaries  for  many 
centuries.  They  have  followed  closely  in  the 
footsteps  of  St.  John,  and  to-day  the  monks  of 
Mar  Saba  are  almost  as  frugal  and  as  fervent 
as  the  young  man  who  went  down  to  Jericho  to 
proclaim  the  Word,  more  than  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

As  we  came  upon  the  heights,  we  twice  or 
thrice  caught   glimpses  of  the  Dead  Sea  far 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       123 

below  us;  glimpses  that  were  like  visions  of 
paradise — fatal  to  the  joy  of  him  that  is  denied 
admittance.  Then  came  a  distant  view  of  a 
small  tomb  on  the  summit  of  a  ridge  above  the 
Kedron, — a  spot  very  sacred  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Mohammedans;  for  it  is  their  tomb  of 
Moses,  and  Moses  is  much  to  them.  Christians 
question  the  authenticity  of  this  site,  and 
endeavor  to  prove  their  case  by  the  geography 
of  Holy  Writ ;  but  of  the  two  supposed  sites  of 
the  Prophet's  tomb,  this  of  the  Mohammedans 
is  the  more  popular. 

The  Bedouins!  By  and  by,  our  track — if  so 
shadowy  a  course  may  be  called  even  a  track — 
lay  over  a  ridge,  and  through  a  long  stretch  of 
desert,  that  glowed  like  the  disk  of  a  highly- 
burnished  shield.  The  air  was  charged  with 
flame;  it  flashed  in  our  faces  like  powder;  it 
shone  through  out  shut  eyelids — a  crimson 
light,  that  blinded  us,  and  half  consumed  our 
eyes  in  their  sockets. 

Dark-smoked  glasses  afforded  little  relief; 
and  through  the  clouded  glass  I  saw  afar  off, 
in  the  midst  of  this  blazing  desert,  a  cluster  of 
black  tents  stretched  lightly  over  slender 
poles,  like  so  many  spider  webs,  coated  thick 
with  dust.  These  tents  afforded  meagre  shelter, 
for  they  were  without  sides,  and  of  scanty  com- 
pass, being  indeed  little  better  than  large  para- 
sols, planted  in  the  sand — but  how  we  eyed  them ! 


124      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

It  was  the  Bedouin  at  home,  the  pest  of  the 
wilderness ;  for  he  alone  is  the  unconquerable 
master  of  all  this  desolation.  He  knows  the 
undiscovered  chambers  beneath  the  cliffs,  out 
of  the  glare  of  day,  beside  the  living  spring, 
where  he  may  gather  his  tribe  together,  and 
baffle  the  most  vigilant  pursuers.  He  can 
starve  you  out  of  his  realm;  choke  or  poison 
the  springs;  assault  you  in  narrow  passes, 
where  escape  is  utterly  impossible.  He  sits  in 
the  fierce  heat,  and  braves  the  terrible  light 
with  the  sharp,  unwinking  eye  of  the  eagle; 
he  basks  in  the  sun — he  feeds  on  it,  and  on 
little  else,  save  air  and  goat's  milk.  He  is  a 
salamander  and  a  fatalist,  and  bears  a  charmed 
life. 

I  do  not  find  his  grave  by  the  wayside — this 
fire-fed  Bedouin.  I  half  believe  that  he  is 
hatched  in  the  hot  sand,  like  an  ostrich ;  that 
he  lives  a  thousand  years  on  the  chameleon's 
dish,  and  is  then  consumed  away — being  at 
white  heat — and  out  of  his  ashes  springs  his 
phoenix  son. 

Such  is  the  dweller  in  the  black  tents, — the 
mute  nomadian,  whose  cat-like  tread  upon  the 
desert  leaves  no  track  behind.  Son  of  the  sun, 
wedded  to  the  daughter  of  the  moon,  begetting 
sons  as  slim  and  as  swift-footed  as  lizards,  and 
holding  forever  this  unlovely  wilderness  of  fire 
and  famine.     He  is  the  sum  and  substance  of 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       125 

the  tribe  of  Esau ;  for  Esau  was  a  hairy  man, 
and  as  unpopular  as  a  goat. 

Instinctively  we  drew  closer  to  one  another. 
The  muleteer  had  dropped  behind;  it  was  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  save  himself  and  his 
beast  from  running  down-hill  in  a  river  of 
sweat;  he,  however,  quickened  his  pace,  and 
beat  the  pack-animal  roundly,  so  as  to  keep 
within  hailing  distance  so  long  as  the  black 
tents  were  visible. 

We  saw  nothing  of  the  Bedouins.  They 
may  have  been  absent  on  a  foraging  expedi- 
tion; or  were  possibly  sleeping,  after  having 
gorged  themselves  on  a  leek  and  a  chip  of 
black  bread,  picked  up  in  the  wake  of  the  last 
caravan;  but,  more  likely,  they  thought  our 
party  too  unpromising  to  make  an  attack  worth 
their  while ;  and,  then,  our  sheik  was  a  favorite 
among  them,  for  he  levied  large  assessments 
on  the  pilgrims  in  the  wilderness,  and  shared 
it  with  all  these  prowlers. 

We  groped  our  way  through  the  dazzling 
desert,  up  a  long,  dispiriting  hill  beyond  it, 
and  came  at  last  to  a  well  famous  for  being 
the  only  one  on  the  route.  We  were  parched 
to  the  core,  and  hastened  to  approach  this 
fountain  of  refreshment.  Alas!  we  found  a 
cistern — it  was  not  a  spring — standing  level 
with  the  road,  so  that  one  might  easily  walk 
into  it  on  a  dark  night.     It  was  a  dozen  feet 


126      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

deep,  half  filled  with  debris  blown  in  from  the 
highway,  and  holding  about  twelve  inches  of 
thick,  green-mantled  water,  stirred  from  time 
to  time  by  sluggish  newts.  It  was  probably 
in  such  a  pit  as  this  that  Joseph  was  hidden  by 
his  brethren;  for  such  water-holds  are  scat- 
tered throughout  the  country,  and  many  of 
them  are  dry. 

This  was  our  oasis!  We  had  been  looking 
forward  to  it  for  an  almost  endless  hour. 
Now,  indeed,  our  muleteer  was  far  down  the 
mountain  trail;  once  out  of  the  range  of  the 
black  tents,  he  devoted  himself  to  perspiration 
and  profanity,  and  his  delay  was  provoking  us 
past  belief.  He  had  the  wine,  the  bread  and 
the  cheese,  and  all  that  maketh  glad  the  heart, 
and  softeneth  the  weariness  of  the  desert. 

It  was  then  we  panted  for  the  water-brooks ; 
it  was  then,  also,  that  we  reviled  the  muleteer 
and  all  his  ancestors;  but  we  suddenly  grew 
close-mouthed,  for  fear  of  forgetting  ourselves 
in  the  way — the  very  way  over  which  St.  John 
the  Baptist  must  have  passed  again  and  again. 
Ah!  only  to  have  heard  "the  voice  of  one  cry- 
ing in  the  wilderness"  at  that  hour,  whatever 
may  have  been  his  cry.  We  were  sick  of  the 
heat  and  the  silence;  anhungered  and  athirst; 
the  way  was  long  and  wild,  and  every  moment 
we  grew  worse  and  worse,  both  man  and  beast. 

He  came  at  last,  the  laggard !  bringing  sal va- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       127 

tion  with  him,  in  the  shape  of  wine  heated  hot 
in  the  bottle,  and  cakes  of  cheese  reduced  to 
an  oily  paste.  We  ate  and  drank  with  grati- 
tude and  avidity,  and  then  we  lay  down  in  the 
shadow  of  a  great  rock,  in  a  weary  land,  and 
slept  for  full  twenty  minutes.  The  rock  was 
red-hot ;  the  shadow  was  so  narrow  and  so  thin 
that  there  was  scarcely  enough  of  it  to  go 
round;  but  we  shared  it  equally,  and  were 
saved. 

When  we  resumed  our  journey,  afternoon 
shadows  —  real  shadows,  hanging  like  long 
cloaks  from  the  shoulders  of  the  mountains — 
thrilled  us  with  a  perceptible  change  in  the 
temperature  as  we  crept  under  their  hems. 

Once  only  we  met  signs  of  life  after  we  broke 
camp  on  the  mountain.  A  dozen  storks  were 
sailing  among  the  chasms  about  us ;  and  sailing 
so  leisurely  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  wind  were 
wafting  them  whither  it  listed,  and  that  they 
were  as  unmindful  of  their  course  as  so  many 
balloons  might  have  been.  Sometimes  a 
group  of  them  settled  awkwardly  on  the  rocks 
in  front  of  us ;  and  waited  for  us  to  come  up  to 
them,  when  they  would  suddenly  leap  into  the 
air,  and  slide  away  on  heavy  and  powerful 
wings. 

I  was  so  delighted  to  meet  with  these  fine 
old  birds — birds  of  good  omen  and  of  agreeable 
disposition — that  I  halted  in  the  trail,  and  lost 


128      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

sight  of  the  caravan,  that  had  rounded  a  point 
some  distance  in  advance.  The  trail  was  poor 
enough,  and  so  indistinct  that  I  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  pick  my  way  alone  among  the  loose 
stones,  and  over  the  slippery,  water-worn  ter- 
races of  the  mountain. 

At  this  moment  I  came  abruptly  face  to  face 
with  three  young  Bedouins,  who  were  on  foot, 
— each  with  his  long  carbine  balanced  back  of 
his  neck,  and  his  two  arms,  stretched  wide  as 


if  in  crucifixion,  spread  upon  barrel  and  butt. 
They  sauntered  listlessly  forward,  while  a 
delicious  chill  ran  through  me;  I  knew  that 
these  very  fellows  had  again  and  again  turned 
swiftly  upon  the  unsuspecting  traveler, 
dragged  him  from  the  saddle,  stripped  him 
naked,  and  then  beaten  and  left  him  by  the 
wayside  to  his  fate.  The  stripping  alone,  at 
such  a  time,  and  in  such  a  place,  would  result 
in  tortures  indescribable ;  for  the  sun  is  merci- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       129 


less.  Death  would  very  likely  follow  such  an 
exposure,  as  it  not  unfrequently  does  when 
animals  are  urged  on  in  the  hottest  hours  of 
the  day. 

Those  Bedouins  looked  at  me  with  a  stare 
that  was  as  meaningless  as  the  face  of  a  stone 
god.  They  stood  stock-still  in  the  path,  com- 
pelling me  to  pick  my  way  around  them; 
when  I  had  passed  they  swung  on  their 
to  watch  me ;  I  turned  also, 
riveting  my  eyes  upon 
them,  because  I  was  com- 
pelled to — more  in  a  kind 
of  fasci- 
nation *= 
than  in  fear ; 
but  my  horse 
kept  his 
steady  pace 
up  the  path,  and  we 
were  still  eyeing  one 
another,  when  I  was 
suddenly  startled  by 
the  arrival  of  our  sheik, 
who  came  dashing 
down  upon  me  in 
splendid  style,  and, 
placing  himself  between 
me  and  the  Bedouins,  fol- 
lowed me  imtil  we  reached 


BEDOUINS. 


I30      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


the  caravan,  which  had  come  to  a  full  stop, 
and  was  much  concerned  at  my  delay. 

I  wonder  if  most  of  the  brilliant  adventures 
with  which  the  Syrian  traveler  enlivens  his 
pages  are  as  tame  in  reality  as  my  own  hair- 
breadth escape? 

When  we  reached  the  deep  gorge  of  the 
Kedron  it  was  flooded  with  shadows,  for  the 
hour  was  late ;  out  of  these  shadows  we  rode  to 
the  verge  of  a  cliff,  and  saw  in  the  delicious 
twilight  the  wonderful  walls 
of  Mar  Saba.  Our  tents  were 
pitched  in  a  shallow  ravine, 
sj  just  above  the  upper  wall  of 
It  he  convent;  for,  as  no 
ladies  are  permitted  to 
pass  even  the  outer 
gate,  it  became  neces- 
to  provide  accommoda- 
tions for  our  fairer  friends 
within  sound  of  the  hyena's 
laugh — he  didn't  laugh  at  them, 
however — and  the  piercing  cry 
of  the  jackal. 

There  is  a  tower  stand- 
ing lonely,  somewhat 
'^  apart  from   the 

convent,     where 
ladies   find  excel- 
lent shel- 


AN  ENTRANCE  AT  MAR   SABA. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       131 

ter,  if  they  prefer  it  to  the  cleaner  and 
more  cosy  tents.  From  the  battlements  of  the 
tower  the  inquisitive  gfu^st,  if  there  be  any 
such,  may  look  over  the  high  walls  into  the 
labyrinths  of  grottoes,  galleries  and  gardens 
that  are  clinging  to  the  face  of  the  cliff  below. 
Of  course,  we  of  the  sterner  sex  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  penetrating  even  to  the  very  bowels 
of  this  remarkable  refuge  of  the  world-weary. 

There  is  nothing  just  like  it  elsewhere;  the 
gorge  of  the  Kedron,  a  thousand  feet  or  more 
in  depth,  looks  as  if  it  had  been  opened 
through  miraculous  agency,  and  might  shut 
again  some  day.  It  is  a  peep  between  the 
pages  of  a  mystical  volume — a  glimpse  only, 
that  leaves  one  more  mystified  than  ever. 

The  gorge  is  but  a  few  yards  broad  at  the 
bottom,  and  one  might  easily  cast  a  stone  to 
the  opposite  bluff  while  perched  upon  its  dizzy 
brink.  Down  one  side  of  this  gorge,  over  a 
surface  that  is  almost  perpendicular,  are  dis- 
tributed the  numerous — I  had  almost  said 
innumerable — chapels,  courts,  chambers,  gal- 
leries, and  a  thousand  architectural  surprises 
and  eccentricities,  such  as  one  would  imagine 
most  likely  to  grow  wild,  or  go  wild,  in  the 
wilderness. 

A  village  turned  upon  end,  and  plastered  to 
the  face  of  a  high  wall,  would  not  astonish  us 
more.      They  have    built,    like    swallows,    in 


132      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

a  sea-cliff,  these  monks  of  the  desert;  they  have 
fortified  themselves,  that  the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil  may  not  prevail  against  them; 
they  have  set  tip  a  high  watch-tower  in  their 
very  midst,  where  a  keen-eyed  Brother  is 
always  upon  the  look-out  to  g^ve  warning  of  the 
approach  of  the  enemy. 

They  have  cut  themselves  off  from  the  bed 
of  the  gorge  by  a  clean  leap  of  six  hundred 
feet ;  the  upper  walls  of  their  hermitages  over- 
lap the  heights  above  the  gorge.  There  is 
nothing  higher  than  they:  they  actually  seem 
to  be  hangfing  in  the  air  over  that  frightful 
chasm ;  yet  there  they  are  so  much  at  their  ease 
that  they  may  come  out  of  their  tiny  cells  in 
the  cliff  onto  tiny  balconies,  or  porches,  and 
sit  and  brood  like  martins. 

They  disappear  in  one  part  of  the  precipice, 
and  presently  come  to  the  surface  in  a  new 
place;  they  drop  from  terrace  to  terrace,  and 
climb  from  floor  to  roof,  from  roof  to  tower, 
back  and  forth  continually,  like  white  mice. 
One  is  never  weary  of  watching  them,  for  they 
are  never  all  at  rest ;  it  is  as  if  they  had  the 
power  of  flj^ng  with  invisible  wings ;  for  how- 
ever they  get  from  one  martin-box  to  another 
is  past  finding  out. 

The  truth  is,  the  whole  face  of  the  cliff  is 
like  an  ant-hill ;  there  are  hidden  galleries  and 
secret  passages  that  connect  every  part  of  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      133 

vast  settlement;  yet  no  one  but  a  monk  who 
has  studied  the  chart  can  possibly  make  his 
way  through  the  labyrinthine  mazes,  or,  once 
lost  in  the  bewildering  intricacies  of  the  mon- 
astery, hope  to  find  his  way  out  again  without 
a  guide. 

A  letter  of  introduction  is  necessary  to 
secure  admission  to  Mar  Saba,  The  Greek 
Patriarch  of  Jerusalem  provides  it.  Having 
reached  the  monastery,  we  ring  at  the  great 
gate  on  the  top  of  the  cliff.  Some  one  looks 
out  of  the  high  tower,  and  takes  an  observa- 
tion ;  we  give  a  shout  of  friendly  greeting,  and 
wave  our  letter  of  introduction  in  the  air.  At 
this  stage  of  the  proceedings  a  huge  key  is 
dropped  into  the  inner  court,  where  an  attend- 
ant, who  is  stationed  within,  and  himself 
apparently  under  lock  and  key,  takes  it,  and 
opens  the  outer  gate — a  few  inches  only ;  here 
he  examines  our  passport — the  letter  of  the 
Patriarch  —  and  eyeing  us  suspiciously,  lest 
peradventure  we  might  be  women  in  disguise, 
he  somewhat  ungraciously  admits  us. 

Another  gate  still  shuts  us  out  from  the  con- 
vent, and  our  Bedouin  is  not  permitted  to  come 
even  thus  far,  for  the  place  has  on  several 
occasions  been  the  scene  of  hideous  slaughter. 
The  outer  gate  having  been  secured  against  the 
ladies,  and  our  unbelieving  retinue,  we  are  at 
last  given  welcome  by  a  monk,  who  is  to  pilot 


us  over  the  face  of  the 

cliff,  and  show  us  how, 

like  the  birds,  they 

all  live  at  Mar 

^^.^  Saba. 

What  a  climb 

^^'^^^'^i^    it  was !  —  down 

^\\y stairs,  fifty  of  them, 

into  a  stone   court 

with  a  chapel;    up 

stairs  into  another 

chapel,  sunk  into  the  solid 

rock,  all  ablaze  with 

golden    lamps,    and 

sweet  with    incense; 

for  the  bones  of  six 

hundred  martyrs  lie 

under  the  pavement, 

_^ and  part  of  them  you 

t^^^  see  plainly  through 
J  ^=  f  ^.  a  heavy  grating 
when  the  monk 
thrusts  a  flam- 
ing taper  in 
amongst  them. 
These  martyrs 
were  all  her- 
mits, and  lived 
alone  i  n  peace 
with  the  swal- 
lows, until  the 
Persian    hordes 


THE  PALM  OF  MAR  SABA. 


134 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       135 

fell  upon  them,  slaughtered  them  to  a  man,  and 
cast  their  bodies  to  the  jackals  in  the  abyss  below. 

Bridges  leap  from  chamber  to  chamber, 
spanning  fearful  depths ;  tunnels  dart  through 
the  cliffs,  and  in  the  sides  of  the  tunnels  are 
windows  cut  through  the  solid  rock,  looking 
out  upon  the  most  desolate  spot  in  the  world ; 
and  there  are  little  doors — oh!  so  many  of 
them — opening  out  of  cells  just  big  enough  to 
creep  into,  and  curl  up  in  a  cosy  heap. 

Mar  Saba,  or  St.  Sabas,  Abbott,  was  born  in 
Cappadocia  in  the  5th  century.  He  renounced 
the  world  in  his  eighth  year,  and  after  ten 
years  of  monastic  life,  which  he  found  too  lax 
for  his  ascetic  soul,  he  fled  to  this  laura  of  St. 
Euthymius,  in  the  Kedron  gorge;  but  the 
elder  Saint  thought  the  youth  "too  young  to 
continue  in  his  laura  with  the  anchorites,  so 
extreme  a  solitude  being  only  proper  for  the 
most  perfect ;  for  a  laura  consisted  of  a  cluster 
of  separate  cells,  or  hermitages,  in  the  desert," 
and  this  was  one  of  the  wildest  and  most 
secluded  of  them  all.  By  and  by  the  lad 
accomplished  his  aim,  and  this  amazing  hive  of 
monks  grew  out  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
young  Saint,  who  long  before  his  death  had 
achieved  the  fame  he  despised,  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  hosts  of  holy  hermits,  who  emu- 
lated their  spiritual  head  in  the  severity  and 
simplicity  of  their  lives. 


136      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

The  Rev.  Alban  Butler  tells  this  episode  in 
the  life  of  the  Saint :  He  had  once  gone  into  a 
cave  to  pray.  "It  happened  to  be  the  den  of  a 
huge  lion.  At  midnight  the  beast  came  in, 
and  finding  his  guest,  dared  not  to  touch  him, 
but,  taking  him  gently  by  his  garments, 
plucked  him  as  if  it  had  been  to  draw  him  out. 
The  Saint  was  noways  affrighted  or  troubled, 
but  began  leisurely,  and  with  much  devotion, 
to  recite  aloud  the  midnight  Psalms.  The 
lion  went  out,  and,  when  the  holy  man  had 
finished  Matins,  came  in  again,  and  pulled  him 
by  the  skirts  of  his  clothes,  as  he  had  done 
before.  The  Saint  spoke  to  the  beast,  and 
said  the  place  was  big  enough  to  hold  them 
both.  The  lion  at  these  words  departed,  and 
returned  no  more." 

Fourteen  centuries  later  it  was  my  singular 
happiness  to  hear  this  very  legend  from  the 
lips  of  the  monk  of  the  laura,  as  we  sat  together 
in  the  cave  of  St.  Sabas  and  the  lion. 

There  is  a  solitary  palm  tree  reigning  over 
one  of  the  small  garden  terraces,  and  this  palm 
is  said  to  have  been  planted  by  St.  Sabas  him- 
self. The  monk-guide  assured  me  that  such 
was  the  case ;  then  he  took  me  up  stairs  and 
down  stairs,  through  trap-doors  into  subter- 
ranean passages  full  of  surprises  and  queer 
smells ;  he  gave  me  rakee  (the  strong  drink  of 
the  East),  and  a  pipe  on  one  of  the  airy  bal- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     137 


conies  overhanging  the  abyss ; 
and    brought    me   rosaries  — 
Greek  rosaries — and  crucifixes 
carved    by    the   monks   from 
Oriental  wood,  and  perfumed 
with  fragrant  gums.    He 
sold  us  all  as  much  as  he 
could,  and  then  begged  a  little 
more  for  charity — ^but  he  had 
well  earned  all  he  got  from 
our   caravan;    for  the   Peris, 
who  were  disconsolate  without  the 
gates  of  this  Greek  Eden,  with  its 
one  lonely  and  lovely  palm 
tree,  discouraged  the  spirit 
of  generosity  which  the  ex- 
traordinary place  awakened. 

How  marvelous  it  is !     Even  in 
the  blazing  sunshine  it  is  a  tangle 
of    shadows   that    hang   in  long 
fringes  from  the   cornice  of  the 
cliff.     By  twilight  it  is  swal- 
lowed  up    in    a  purple    flood, 
through  which  the  stars  fall 
like    sparkling    dew, —  those 
showers  of  restless  stars  that 
are  forever  darting  through 
the   skies    of  the    Orient! 
When  the  moon  is  full.  Mar 
Saba    is    spiritualized 


CONVENT   OF  MAR   SABA. 


138     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


wrapped  in  a  silence  as  profound  as  death ;  it  is 
like  a  vision  of  that  heavenly  home  which  the 
devotee,  hopeless  of  finding  among  the  habita- 
tions of  men,  is  driven  to  seek  even  in  the 
uttermost  solitude  of  the  desert. 

We  are  but  three  hours'  ride  from  Jerusalem, 
and  thither  bound ;  grave  disappointments  are  to 
follow,    %>  but  at  Mar  Saba  we  were  filled  with 

delight;  and   when  we 
took   our  last 
,<look   at  the  an- 
tique laura,    in 
the  full  glow  of  the 
moon,  it  was  like  an  ex- 
quisite   relief  in  palest- 
tinted    marble,    chiseled 
by  the  hands  of  gods  who  thus, 
with  a  single  stroke,  achieved 
the  delight  and  the  des- 
pair of  Art. 

Gethsemane !     Had 

you  ever  a  vision  of  a 

•  fair  garden  grown   to 

seed — a  grove  of  gaunt, 

gray  olives,  with  boughs 

that  look  like  puflEs 

of    smoke    in    the 

moonlight,  and  like 

sprays  of  silver  in 

the  sunshine? 


THE  GARDEN  OF  GETHSEMANE, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       I39 

A  garden  not  over- visited,  flooded  with  tall, 
rich  grass,  through  which  a  narrow  path  is 
scarcely  broken  under  the  low-hanging 
branches — a  narrow  path,  leading  on  and  on, 
through  silence  and  solitude,  to  the  mother- 
tree,  in  whose  mossy  lap  you  are  wont  to  sit 
and  dream;  a  garden  where  the  sparrows 
brood,  and  the  rooks  speak  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
and  the  lizard  is  unafraid ; — a  garden  where  the 
sunshine  falls  more  softly  than  ever;  where  the 
wind  is  never  rude;  where  the  rain  descends 
in  showers  mellow  and  musical; — a  restful 
garden,  the  haunt  of  the  weary;  where  the 
sorrowful  seek  consolation,  and  find  it 
unawares ;  where  the  faint  take  heart,  and  the 
boisterous  become  gentle,  because  angels  sit 
and  watch  unseen  at  the  four  comers  thereof, 
with  slender  fingers  pressed  upon  their  lips. 

The  wall  of  this  garden  is  broken,  and  over- 
whelmed with  myrtles.  You  are  free  to  enter 
and  depart  at  whatever  hour  you  will;  but 
there  you  sit  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  look  out 
under  the  motionless  boughs,  seeing  upon  the 
hill-top,  not  far  away,  that  city  before  whose 
walls  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  are  humbled — 
the  Holy  City,  whose  story  is  forever  cele- 
brated in  glorious  and  triumphant  song.  This 
is  the  Gethsemane  I  have  longed  for ! 

Behold  the  Gethsemane  I  have  found: — an 
enclosure  about  seventy  paces  in  circumfer- 


I40      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


ence,  surrounded  by  a  high  stone  wall ;  there  is 
one  small  door  in  the  wall,  on  the  upper  side 
of  the  garden,  against  the  Mount  of  Olives.  A 
knock  at  this  door  summons  a  Franciscan  friar, 
who  unlocks  it,  and  invites  you  to  a  prim 
parterre,  with  asphaltum  walks,  and  stiff 
flower-plots  carefully  fenced  in.  Seven  olive 
trees,  torn  almost  to  shreds,  with  their  feeble 
limbs  propped  up  and  bound  together,  stand  in 
the  centre  of  the  enclosure. 

The  stations  of  the  Cross  are  ranged  about 
the  wall.  The  Brother  admits  you,  if  you 
desire  it — and  of  course  every  one  does — into 
the  inner,  the  inmost  garden,  so  that  you  may 
approach  the  trees,  and  even  touch  them  with 
your  hand.  These  venerable  olives  seem  to 
have  known  something  of  the 
Agony  of  the  awful  watch- 
night,  and  to  show  it,  as  best 
they  can,  in  every  line 
of  their  rent  and  ragged 
bodies. 


PART  OF  THE  MODERN  GARDEN. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       141 

The  friar  gathers  a  few  flowers  of  the  many- 
he  carefully  cultivates;  you  pay  him  a  franc 
and  withdraw,  because  there  is  another  knock 
at  the  little  door  in  the  wall ;  and  the  gentle 
keeper,  who  has  grown  worldly-wise  for  all  his 
vows  of  unworldliness,  does  not  like  to  leave 
you  alone  in  his  flower-beds,  and  within  reach 
of  the  trees,  whose  very  bones  have  been 
picked  again  and  again  by  devout  curio 
hunters. 

You  may  see,  if  you  like,  without  the  walls, 
the  spot  where  Peter,  James,  and  John  slept 
when  they  should  have  watched ;  and  near  to 
it  the  column  in  memory  of  the  kiss  of  Judas. 
Yonder  is  the  cavern  of  the  Sweat  of  Blood ; 
and  close  against  it,  far  down  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  is  the  tomb  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
of  St.  Joseph,  and  of  the  parents  of  Our  Lady. 

Over  the  wall,  on  the  one  hand,  you  see 
Jerusalem ;  on  the  other  is  the  Mount  of  Olives 
— the  Garden  of  Gethsemane  is  less  than  half- 
way up  its  slope.  Beneath  you  is  the  Valley 
of  Jehoshaphat,  with  its  tombs  of  the  prophets, 
and  of  Absalom,  St.  James,  Zacharias,  and  a 
host  of  nameless  Jewish .  and  Mohammedan 
dead — this  is  all.  But  this  is  enough  to  dis- 
miss from  your  memory  all  traces  of  the  con- 
soling vision  over  which  you  have  again  and 
again  dreamed  your  beautiful  and  pathetic 
dream. 
10 


142      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


Long  ago  a  devotee  told  me,  while  his  eye 
glistened  with  the  tear  of  sensibility,  that  he 
had  promised  to  pen  the  idol  of  his  heart  a  long 
letter,  written  within  the  shadow  of  those  grief- 
stricken  and  passion-torn  trees  in  the  Garden 
of  Olives.  I  wonder  if  he  did  so?  I  wonder  if 
his  heart  came  near  to  breaking  then,  as  it 
very  properly  should;  or  if  the  loud  and 
impatient  and  business-like  knocking  at  the 
locked  door  disturbed  him?  I  wonder — oh!  I 
wonder  if  the  friar,  waiting  impatiently  for 
him  to  turn  his  period,  and  the  shuffling  feet  of 
the  frequent  guest,  robbed  the  place  of  the  last 
vestiges  of  sanctity,  as  was  certainly  the  case 
when  I  tarried  there  for  a  half  hour  or  more? 
As  I  recall  that  visit  now,  I  find  myself 
dwelling  upon  it  with  more  composure  than 
was  possible  at  first ;  and  it  may  be  that  I  shall 
be  permitted  to  return  to  my  visionary  garden 
in  the  twilight  of  the  hereafter,  and  sit  in  the 
old  seat,  and  look  out  from  under  melancholy 
boughs, — not  exactly  in  the  old  way,  perhaps, 
but  with  a  more  real  and  a  sincerer  sorrow  for 
the  shade  of  the  unforgotten  past. 

Olivet!  It  is  from  the  summit  of  the 
Mount  of  Olives  that  the 
familiar  and  the  most 
impressive  view  of  the 
Holy  City  is  obtained. 
Not  only  is  the  pano- 


MOSQUB  AND  CHURCH  OF  THE  ASCENSION, 
MOUNT  OF  OLIVES. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       143 

rama  of  Jerusalem,  from  this  point  of  sight, 
singularly  beautiful,  but  the  eye  roams  over 
hill  and  dale  to  the  edge  of  the  wide  horizon, 
and  rests  at  last  in  the  deep,  dark  valley  of 
Sodom,  where  the  Dead  Sea  lies  like  a  sheet 
of  molten  lead,  nearly  four  thousand  feet 
below  the  brow  of  Olivet. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  shrines  in  and 
about  Zion — perhaps  there  is  not  one  of  the 
thousand  whose  identity  is  established  beyond 
question — there  can  be  no  shadow  of  doubt 
thrown  upon  the  traditions  of  this  holy  hill. 
Leaving  the  veritable  Rock  of  the  Ascension 
out  of  the  argument,  and  ignoring  the  colossal 
footprint  of  Christ  impressed  thereon,  the  fact 
remains,  that  there  stands  Jerusalem,  or  what 
is  left  of  it ;  and  here  is  Olivet,  separated  from 
the  Temple  platform  by  the  Valley  of  Jehosh- 
aphat.  Here  He  must  have  stood  and  gazed 
upon  the  city  that  He  loved;  here  He  wept 
over  it,  when  He  thought  on  the  fall  thereof. 

The  summit  of  Olivet  is  crowned  by  a 
clumsy  and  irregular  buildmg,  half  chapel,  half 
mosque — all  that  is  left  of  the  work  begun  by 
Constantine,  and  continued  by  the  Crusaders. 
Let  us  enter.  We  knock  at  a  gate  in  the  outer 
wall  of  a  court ;  a  Mohammedan  admits  us.  A 
small,  bare  chapel  in  the  centre  of  the  court — 
a  chapel  which  covers  a  naked  rock  worn 
smooth  by  the  lips  of  millions  of  pilgrims — is 


144      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

the  property  of  the  Mohammedans,  who 
graciously  permit  the  Christians  to  celebrate 
Mass  in  it  on  certain  days;  and  the  Arme- 
nians, Copts,  Syrians,  and  Greeks  have  each 
their  allotted  corner  for  prayer. 

A  door  in  the  court  opens  into  a  house  of 
dervishes — Mohammedan  monks — which  occu- 
pies the  site  of  a  former  Augustinian  abbey. 
The  minaret  of  this  Moslem  monastery  is  the 
only  tower  on  Olivet ;  from  it  the  eye  is  capti- 
vated by  the  splendor  and  variety  of  the  land- 
scape, lit  as  it  is  by  sharp  bursts  of  sunshine, 
or  veiled  by  the  brisk  showers  that  are  con- 
tinually trailing  across  the  hills. 

Just  below  the  brow  of  Olivet,  on  the  slope 
toward  the  Valley  of  the  Jordan,  is  hidden  the 
village  of  Bethany.  Not  a  point  of  land,  not  a 
shadowy  depression  but  is  hallowed  by  associa- 
tion with  some  event  in  sacred  history,  the 
mere  mention  of  which  is  sure  to  recall  the 
first  thrills  of  delight,  not  unmixed  with  awe, 
with  which  we  were  wont  to  listen  in  child- 
hood; for  that  was  long  before  those  scenes 
had  grown  familiar  and  proportionately  com- 
monplace. 

A  few  tents  are  usually  pitched  upon  the 
slopes  of  Olivet  during  the  season  of  the  pil- 
grimages; there  are  many  who  never  enter  a 
monastery  or  hotel  so  long  as  they  are  in 
Palestine   and    Syria,   but  lead  a  picturesque 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      I45 

camp-life  from  the  hour  they  land  at  Jaffa  till 
they  take  ship  again  at  Beirout,  after  their 
return  from  Damascus. 

The  olive,  the  fig,  and  the  carob  are  scattered 
over  the  mountain;  a  few  apricot,  almond, 
terebinth  and  hawthorn  trees  have  struck  root 
in  the  stony  soil;  the  place  is  open  to  the 
world :  one  rides  at  will  in  the  road,  or  across 
fields ;  plucks  sprigs  from  the  olives,  that  are, 
for  the  most  part,  within  easy  reach  from  the 
saddle.  Groups  of  Syrian  women  gather  under 
the  branches,  and  spend  the  afternoon  in 
magpie-gossip.  Children  play  games,  but  they 
are  never  noisy  ones  in  this  sad  and  sacred 
land ;  many  of  these  little  ones  have  with  them 
pet  lambs,  washed  as  white  as  snow,  and  some 
of  them  with  their  wool  dyed  scarlet  and 
orange  and  blue,  in  honor  of  Easter  Day. 

Pilgrims,  caravans  and  Turkish  soldiers — the 
latter  cheered  by  wild,  discordant  music — pass 
over  the  roads  that  girdle  the  mountain ;  they 
are  a  prominent  feature  in  the  spectacle  that 
is  ever  changing,  and  that  is  watched  in  silence 
by  the  listless  multitude.  Many  a  nargileh  is 
smoked  in  peace  under  the  shade  of  the  olives 
on  the  mountain  by  the  "place  of  weeping,"  or 
at  the  scene  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and 
the  convent  that  marks  the  spot  where  Our 
Lord  taught  His  prayer  to  the  disciples. 

A  spell  seems  to  brood  over  the  City — a  spell 


THE  MOUNT  OF 
OLIVES. 


never  for  a  mo- 
ment lifted  from  it. 
^The  brightest  sun- 
shine only  deepens 
the  gray  shadows  that 
hang  under  the  thrice 
'  venerable  walls.  There 
-4  is  a  lack  of  color,  a  want 
^  of  vitality,  a  drowsiness 
spirit  noticeable  everywhere. 
There  is  no  mirth  in  the  laughter  of 
the  people — if  indeed  they  ever  laugh  at  all :  I 
do  not  now  remember  having  seen  so  much  or 
so  little  as  a  smile ;  there  is  no  sparkle  in  their 
wit,  no  buoyancy  in  their  step. 

The  hush  of  an  "eternal  Sabbath" — I  do  not 
mean  the  Sunday  of  the  Christian  world,  which 
is  a  day  of  restful  joy;  but  the  awful  hush  of 
the  deep-blue  New  England  Sabbath — broods 
over  the  city  like  a  curse,  and  all  the  splendor 
of  Oriental  pageantry  is  not  able  to  give  it  life 
or  color.  The  poetry  has  died  out  of  it;  so 
have  the  love  and  charity  that  were  first  taught 
there.  I  would  as  soon  think  of  laughing  at  a 
funeral  as  of  trying  to  be  decently  cheerful  in 
Jerusalem. 

O  Jerusalem!    Jerusalem!   Apart  from  the 
146 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      147 

glory  and  the  shame  of  her  share  in  the 
triumph  of  the  King  of  kings,  she  is  alone  the 
city  of  all  cities.  David  exalted  her,  Nehemiah 
mourned  over  her,  Titus  was  concerned  about 
her,  the  Saracens  took  pride  in  her,  and  she 
inspired  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Crusaders ;  but 
I  believe  not  a  soul  comes  to  her  now  without 
suffering  a  sore  disappointment,  or  quits  her 
without  uttering  a  sigh  of  relief. 

He  will  remember  her  all  the  days  of  his  life, 
and  be  glad  that  his  pilgrimage  is  over ;  and  he 
will  point  with  a  kind  of  selfish  joy  to  the 
crucifix  or  the  Madonna,  or  the  crest  or  mono- 
gram branded  in  his  arm,  as  an  everlasting 
token  of  his  hadjiship — he  is  worthy  of  the  title 
of  hadji  now; — but  he  will  remember  also  how 
he  sat  alone  on  the  slopes  of  Olivet,  above  the 
Garden  of  Olives,  over  against  the  city,  and  for 
the  life  of  him  could  think  of  nothing  more 
enlivening  or  more  appropriate  than  these  lines 
of  the  grand  old  hymn : 

Jerusalem!  Jerusalem! 

Enthroned  once  on  high ; 
Thou  favored  home  of  Qod  on  earth, 

Thou  heaven  below  the  sky ! 
Now  brought  to  bondage  with  thy  sons, 

A  curse  and  grief  to  see, 
Jerusalem !    Jerusalem ! 

Our  tears  shall  flow  for  thee. 

The  Way  of  Pain !  From  the  walls  of  every 
church  and  chapel  in  Christendom  hang  pious 


148      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


representatives  of  Our  Lord's  Passion  and 
Death.  Even  the  humblest  of  these  prints  or 
paintings  have  power  to  touch  the  hearts  of  the 
faithful,  who  follow  in  solemn  procession  the 
priest  as  he  makes  his  holy  round,  with  crucifix 
and  flickering  taper,  and  devotional  refrain. 
Any  one  who  has  witnessed  the  pathetic  cele- 
bration of  the  Way  of  the  Cross,  and  especially 
he  who  has  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  tearful 
penitents  as  they  painfully  ascend  the  Holy 
Stairs,  now  sacredly  enshrined  in  Rome,  would 
naturally  suppose  that  the  Via  Dolorosa  must 
be  held  in  such  reverence  by  people  of  all  sects 
and  creeds  who  believe  in  the  divinity  of  Our 
»  Lord,  that  anything  like  a  show  of  dis- 
respect would  be  visited  with 
instant  reproof,  and  possibly 
a  just  punishment.  Alas!  it  is 
not  so. 

There  are  more  evidences  of 
heartfelt  grief,  of  real  reverence, 
and  of  genuine  contrition  in  the 
poorest  chapels  in  the  land,  on  the 
evenings  of  the  Fridays  during 
Lent,  than  in  that  sacred  season 
in  the  Way  of  Pain — the  very  way 
which  Our  Redeemer  took  when 
He  passed  up  unto  the  mountain  on 
which  He  died  for  us.  Let  us 
follow  in  His  footsteps  as  best  we 


"TURKISH  SOLDIERS, 
MOSLEM  FELLOWS. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       149 


can,  from  the  first  to  the  last  of  the  Fourteen 
Stations  of  the  Cross. 

St.  Stephen's  Gate — so  called  because  the 
martyr  was  stoned  to  death  just  without  it — is 
a  massive,  square  tower,  having  a  chamber 
with  a  groined  roof.  Through  this  chamber, 
which  is  level  with  the  pavement  of  the  street, 
pilgrims  are  continually  passing  from  dawn  to 
dark.  The  gate,  or  ponderous  doors,  open 
upon  Gethsemane  and  the  Mount  of  Olives. 
The  place  is  also  known  as  the  "Gate  of  Our 
Lady  Mary";  for  over  against  Gethsemane, 
and  visible  from  the  threshold,  where  the 
sentry  stands  guard  all  day,  is  the  hol- 
low tomb  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

At  this  Gate,  where  one  ^ 
is  shown  a  "footprint  of 
Christ"  in  the  guard-room, 
begins  the  Via  Dolorosa — 
the  Street  or  the  Way  of 
Pain.  It  is  narrow  and  ill- 
paved,  like  all  the  streets 
of  Jerusalem,  and  might 
almost  be  mistaken  for  the 
dry  bed  of  a  pebbly  creek. 
It  is  torture  to  walk  any 
length  of  time  over  the 
sharp,  uneven  stones;  and 
dangerous  to  ride ;  for  the 
badly  shod  beasts  are  always  slipping  or 


VIA  DOLOROSA. 


15©      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


falling,  and  a  fall  on  such  a  pavement  is  usually 
accompanied  by  serious  consequences. 

Turning  your  back  upon  St.  Stephen's  Gate, 
and  entering  the  Via  Dolorosa,  you  see  imme- 
diately upon  your  left  the  gloomy  walls  of  a 
barrack.  Turkish  soldiers,  handsome  but  in- 
solent fellows,  throng  the  windows  and  hang 
about  the  doors ;  wild,  discordant  music — high- 
keyed  bugles  and  shrill  clarions,  that  seem  to 
be  blown  by  some  piercing  storm-wind — 
resounds  through  the  great  halls.  As  nearly 
every  building  in  this  venerable  land  is  founded 
upon  the  ruins  of  some  edifice,  which,  perhaps, 
in  like  manner  sprang  from  the  decay  of  a 
structure  of  remote  and  uncertain  origin,  so 
the  ancient  Castle  of  Antonia  that  once  stood 
here  marked  ^  .,  the  site  of  the  Praetorium, 
the  residence  of  Pilate. 

Within    this    antiquated 
pile,   surrounded  by  jeering 
infidels,  is  a  small  chapel.    It 
is  with   some   difficulty  that 
the  pilgrim  finds  his  way  to  it, 
and  he  is  not  infrequently  ex- 
posed to  the  insults  of  the  brutal  sol- 
diery.     Here,   having  been  subjected 
to  blows  and  blasphemies  before  An- 
nas and  Caiaphas,  after  having  been 
scourged    and    crowned   with   cruel 
thorns,    Our   Lord    was    condemned 


HERE  IS  A  MAN. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      151 

to  death.  —  It  is  the  First  Station  of  the 
Cross. 

Retreating  from  the  chapel — one  is  soon 
driven  hence  by  the  tumult  of  the  barrack — 
you  pause  for  a  few  moments  at  the  flight  of 
steps  by  which  you  descend  into  the  street. 
At  the  foot  of  these  steps — the  original  flight  is 
the  one  above  referred  to,  now  venerated  in 
Rome,  where  it  is  known  as  the  Holy  Stairs — 
the  purple  garment  was  stripped  from  the 
shoulders  that  then  and  there  assumed  the 
burden  of  the  Cross. — It  is  the  Second  Station 
of  the  Cross. 

From  this  point,  in  imagination,  we  are 
accompanied  by  the  riotous  and  enraged  multi- 
tude, who  on  that  dreadful  day  reviled  the 
bleeding  Body  of  Our  Lord  even  unto  the  end. 

Looking  up  the  narrow  street,  which  ascends 
slightly,  on  the  right  is  a  small  shrine  called 
the  Chapel  of  the  Scourging.  Just  beyond  it 
is  the  high  arch  spanning  the  street,  and  sup- 
porting a  small  chamber  with  two  windows.  It 
is  the  Ecce  Homo  Arch,  or  the  Arch  of  Pilate, 
where  he  uttered  the  words,  "Behold  the  Man !" 

Beyond  this  arch,  still  on  the  right  side  of  the 
street,  is  the  convent  of  Pere  Ratisbonne, 
whose  charities  while  he  lived  were  as  famous 
as  the  story  of  his  miraculous  conversion  from 
Judaism,  in  the  Church  of  S.  Andrea  delle 
Fratti  at  Rome.     The  left  side  of  the  street  is 


152      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

a  blank  wall.  Indeed,  the  Via  Dolorosa  seems 
more  like  an  alley  in  the  rear  of  a  town  than 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  thoroughfares  in  the 
world. 

The  street  shortly  descends  into  the  now 
shallow  and  almost  imperceptible  Tyropaeon 
Valley,  and  turns  to  the  left,  under  the  wall  of 
an  ancient  bath  of  the  Sultan.  Here  stands  a 
broken  column — such  an  one  as  might  be 
passed  a  thousand  times  unnoticed.  Most  of 
the  mob  of  pedestrians  seem  to  pay  no  heed  to 
it,  yet  here  Our  Lord  sank  for  the  first  time 
under  the  weight  of  His  agonizing  burden. — It 
is  the  Third  Station  of  the  Cross. 

A  little  farther  on  stands  the  house  of  the 
poor  man  Lazarus;  and  still  farther  up  the 
street,  that  of  the  rich  Dives;  between  these 
houses,  opposite  a  small  lane  diverging  to  the 
left,  occurred  the  most  terrible  and  the  most 
tragic  of  meetings.  At  this  point  the  afflicted 
Mother  saw  and  recognized  her  Divine  Son, 
but  was  not  permitted  to  approach  Him  in  this 
extremity.  Anguish  unutterable  must  have 
thrilled  the  glances  which  they  exchanged. — It 
is  the  Fourth  Station  of  the  Cross. 

It  is  quite  impossible  to  dwell  upon  this 
theme  while  you  are  on  the  spot.  A  con- 
tinual tide  of  traffic  flows  to  and  fro ;  man  and 
beast  crowd  one  another,  and  to  pause  in  their 
midst  is  to  blockade  the  busy  way,  to  run  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      153 


risk  of  being  overwhelmed  by  the  ceaseless 
current  of  humanity,  and  to  invite  the  re- 
proaches of  those  to  whom  all  the  shrines  of 
Jerusalem  have  become  commonplace.  Per- 
haps we,  who  try  hardest  to  visit  them  with 
due  reverence,  are  farthest  from  success;  for 
we  are  most  susceptible  to  distractions,  and 
nowhere  in  the  world  are  there  more  of  these 
to  be  met  with  than  in  the  Holy  City. 

Before  the  house    of  Dives  Our  Lord  was 
relieved  of  His  burden  by 
Simon    the   Cyrenian. 
Here  there  is  a  stone  ""^-^ 
built   into     ^ 
the   wall, —  a  r:^ 
stone  with  a 
depression  in  its 
worn   surface, 
said  to  have  been 
formed    by   the 
hand   of    Christ, 
who,  fainting  and 
about   to  fall, 
stretched  it   forth 
to    support    Himself  '^ 
for  a  moment. — It  is 
the  Fifth  Station  of  «»:5 
the  Cross.  *^  ■> 

The  Sixth  Station  C-      ^ 

is  but  a  hundred  paces      .^ 


154      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

hence;  where  holy  Veronica,  "compassionat- 
ing our  agonizing  Redeemer,  beholding  His 
sacred  Face  livid  with  blows  and  covered  with 
blood  and  sweat,  presented  a  handkerchief." 
You  who  have  seen  this  miraculous  relic 
exposed  under  the  mighty  dome  of  St.  Peter  of 
the  Vatican,  will  realize  with  what  emotion  one 
pauses  at  these  frequent  stations. 

The  tomb  of  St.  Veronica  is  shown  in  an 
adjoining  vault.  In  what  fitter  place  could 
her  relics  find  repository?  The  street  grows 
narrower  and  more  crooked;  sometimes  it 
passes  under  houses  only  two  stories  in  height, 
as  is  not  infrequently  the  case  with  the  by- 
ways, and  even  the  highways,  of  Jerusalem; 
sometimes  it  is  arched  over  for  a  little  space, 
as  if  to  afford  shelter  in  bad  weather ;  then  it 
veers  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  narrowly 
escaping  the  comers  or  the  bulging  fronts  of 
houses  on  either  side. 

The  streets  seem  to  run  down  between  the 
buildings,  that  are  huddled  promiscuously 
together,  as  naturally  as  water-courses  among 
the  rocks — during  heavy  rains  they  are  veritable 
water-courses ; — but  one  never  thinks  of  asking 
the  why  or  the  wherefore,  let  them  turn  and 
twist  as  they  will. 

Passing  under  one  of  the  arches,  we  come  to 
the  Seventh  Station,  where  Jesus  fell  the 
second  time;    and  a  little  farther   on  is   the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      155 

Eighth  Station,  where  He  counselled  and 
consoled  the  daughters  of  Jerusalem.  Here 
ends  the  Via  Dolorosa. 

Thus  far  the  Stations  have  been  discovered 
in  the  most  natural  manner;  they  are  in  no 
case  prominent;  on  the  contrary,  one  might 
easily  pass  them  unnoticed;  they  are  not  at 
equal  distances  from  one  another. 

The  paroxysms  of  grief  that  beset  Our  Lord 
on  that  awful  passage  from  the  scourging  to 
the  Cross  were  such  as  might  befall  any  inno- 
cent victim  of  the  public  rage.  There  must 
have  been  moments  when  His  progress  was 
stayed  by  the  fury  of  the  mob ;  moments  when 
His  faltering  feet  were  hastened  by  the  sup- 
port of  those  who  were  ready  and  willing  to 
suffer  with  Him,  and  even  for  Him — in  His 
stead. 

From  the  Via  Dolorosa  He  was  led  into  a 
narrow  lane — a  passage  that  connects  the  Way 
of  Pain  with  the  open  space  about  Mount 
Calvary.  In  this  dreadful  passage,  perhaps 
trampled  upon  by  those  who  were  pressing  on 
behind  Him,  Jesus  fell  for  the  third  time. — It 
is  the  Ninth  Station. 

Mount  Calvary  in  those  days  may  have  been 
within  or  without  the  wall  of  the  city.  It  is 
useless  to  discuss  a  question  where  opinions  are 
bound  to  conflict  to  the  end  of  time ;  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  state  that  it  is  now  within  the  city  wall. 


156      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

After  leaving  the  Ninth  Station  you  enter  a 
court,  which  is  flanked  on  three  sides  with  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  the  reli- 
gious houses  attached  thereto.  In  the  vestibule 
of  the  church  sit  the  Turkish  guards,  cross- 
legged,  on  their  divans,  smoking  cigarettes, 
and  looking  insolently  upon  the  people,  who 
are  constantly  swarming  in  and  out. 

The  immense  building  covers  a  multitude  of 
shrines.  In  one  comer  of  it  is  a  large  rock; 
this  is  the  summit  of  the  elevation  known  as 
Mount  Calvary.  The  main  floor  of  the  church 
is  but  fourteen  and  one-half  feet  below  the  top 
of  the  rock ;  on  this  rock,  the  crown  of  which 
is  as  level  as  a  floor,  there  is  a  cluster  of 
exceedingly  small  chapels,  reached  by  a  flight 
of  steps;  one  of  these  chapels,  perhaps  ten 
paces  in  length,  and  about  as  many  in  breadth, 
is  Golgotha — "the  place  of  a  skull. "  A  ring  of 
stone  in  the  pavement  of  the  chapel  marks  the 
spot  where  Jesus  was  stripped  of  His  garments. 
— It  is  the  Tenth  Station. 

Three  paces  distant,  at  the  Eleventh  Station, 
He  was  nailed  to  the  Cross.  The  Cross  must 
have  been  lying  with  the  foot  upon  the  socket 
in  the  rock,  so  that  when  it  was  raised  with  the 
body  of  Our  Lord,  it  slipped  at  once  into  place ; 
and  there,  at  the  Twelfth  Station,  He  hung 
until  He  died. 

The    Thirteenth    Station  is    close  at  hand, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       157 


where  His  body  was  received  in  the  descent 
from  the  Cross ;  and  yonder,  under  the  dome  of 
the  church,  is  the  Fourteenth  ♦"  and  last 
Station  —  the  Sepulchre 
where  He  was      x 


laid. 

There      are 
doubtless     many 
who  visit  Jeru-    - 
salem   without 
taking  note  of 
more  than  two 
or  three  of  the 
Fourteen    Sta- 
tions.   Gol- 
gotha and  the 
Holy    Sepul-njb- 
chre   are,   of  J-v" 
course,     o  b  - 
jects  of  interest 
to    all;    but    a 
noticeable  lack  of 
reverence  —  and, 
shall   I   add,    the 
difficulty    one 
experiences  in 

attempting  to  show  reverence, 
or  even  to  feel  it? — deadens 
the  fervor  of  the  most  fer- 
vent, and  turns  the  Holy  of 


'|!|"ii;;!i;|i!^':nMHiii.uii»Miiitiiii;i'!'[i'j 


11 


15^      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Holies  into  an  almost  profane  exposition  for 
the  delectation  of  hosts  of  the  idle  and  the 
curious.     Alas  that  this  should  be  so ! 

Oh !  to  be  alone — to  be  utterly  and  absolutely 
alone,  if  but  for  one  moment,  on  that  Mount ; 
to  cast  myself  at  the  foot  of  the  invisible  but 
imperishable  Cross;  to  escape  from  this  fleshly 
bondage;  brush  from  my  eyes  and  from  my 
heart  and  from  my  soul  the  carnal  mists  that 
obscure  them,  and  realize,  at  last,  the  awful 
majesty  of  that  hour  when  the  veil  of  the 
Temple  was  rent  in  twain  from  top  to  bottom, 
and  the  earth  quaked,  and  the  rocks  were  rent ; 
when  the  graves  of  the  dead  were  opened,  and 
many  of  the  bodies  of  the  saints  which  slept 
arose  and  came  out  of  their  graves,  after  His 
resurrection,  and  went  into  the  Holy  City,  and 
appeared  unto  many;  and  when  they  who 
watched,  seeing  these  things,  feared  greatly, 
saying,  "Truly  this  was  the  Son  of  God." 

It  is  the  most  famous  and  the  most  remark- 
able of  all  churches  which  we  are  about  to 
enter,  by  an  insignificant  door,  apparently  in 
the  rear  of  the  edifice.  It  is  in  reality  the  chief 
entrance,  the  only  one  open  to  the  public, — the 
church  has  no  facade. 

The  court  before  it  is  filled  with  venders  of 
rosaries,  images,  carved  shells,  and  pious  pic- 
tures. These  are  chiefly  made  in  Palestine; 
though  many  pilgrims  bring  with  them  wares, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       159 


out  of  the  profits  of  the  sale  of  which  they  hope 
to  lighten  the  expenses  of  their  pilgrimage. 
Passing  through  this  throng  of  buyers  and 
sellers,  Christians  and  infidels,  grave  patri- 
archs, and  fiery  scoffers,  and,  of  course,  the 
inevitable  beggar,  the  door  is  reached. 

Probably  no  one  enters  this  building  without  ^,.i^''\ 
emotion ;    possibly,    few  leave    it  "^     ' 

without  disgust.     The  strife  and 
contention  within;  the  multitude 
of  shrines,  many  of  them  trivial, 
congregated  in  a  convenient  circle 
about  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  so  that 
from  the  sepulchre  under  the 
central  dome    the    lesser 
shrines  seem  to  have  radi- 
ated in  a  convenient  circle, 
and  almost  with  the  mathe- 
matical   accuracy  of    the 
spokes    of   a    cart-wheel 
where   they  strike   the 
tire — these  bewilder 
or  appall  one.     But 
let   me    not    dwell  =: 
upon  this  theme,  the 
cause  of  scandals  innu- 
merable, and  one  that  will 
probably  occasion  nothin 
but  discord  so  long  as  the 
world  lasts. 


l6o      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

In  the  vestibule  of  the  church  sit  the  Turkish 
guards,  cross-legged  on  their  divans,  smoking 
cigarettes,  and  looking  insolently  upon  the 
multitude  that  constantly  swarm  in  and  out. 
These  guards  eye  you  well,  and  privately 
ascertain  your  address  from  the  dragoman  who 
accompanies  you ;  later  in  the  week — they  have 
learned  your  plans  so  far  as  the  dragoman  is 
acquainted  with  them — they  will  call  upon  you 
in  person,  and  politely  extort  a  somewhat  liberal 
fee  for  having  protected  you  during  your  visit 
to  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

I  have  never  met  with  a  description  of  this 
church  which  gave  me  a  definite  impression  of 
its  interior.  I  do  not  believe  it  can  be 
described,  and  shall  not  attempt  it  myself; 
indeed,  the  scenes  that  are  sometimes  wit- 
nessed there  beggar  description. 

Within  these  walls,  which  should  be  held  as 
the  most  sacred  on  earth ;  where  peace  should 
reign  forever;  and  where,  for  the  time  being 
at  least,  all  differences  of  creed  should  be  for- 
gotten, as  we  bow  in  common  reverence  before 
the  tomb  of  the  Redeemer  who  died  for  us — 
within  this  sanctuary  there  is  confusion  worse 
confounded;  envy,  malice,  and  all  uncharita- 
bleness. 

It  is  quite  impossible  to  visit  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  with  any  degree  of  rever- 
ence, or  to  quit  it  without  a  feeling  of  disap- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       i6l 

pointment,  sorrow,  and  shame — at  least  during 
the  Lenten  season,  and  especially  in  Holy- 
Week,  and  at  Easter-tide.  Were  those  Turkish 
soldiers  not  stationed  at  the  church  door, 
armed  and  on  the  watch,  prepared  to  quell  the 
first  outbreak  of  fanaticism,  it  would  be  almost 
as  much  as  a  man's  life  is  worth  to  venture 
into  the  sanctuary  without  a  body-guard. 

The  building  has  been  sacked  more  than 
once;  it  has  been  restored  and  enlarged  at 
intervals,  and  enriched  through  the  swelling 
enthusiasm  of  succeeding  centuries;  has  been 
extended,  in  one  direction  or  another,  so  as  to 
embrace  and  cover  this  object  of  reverence,  or 
that  one  of  interest ;  and  has  thus,  no  doubt, 
gathered  within  its  walls  some  shrines  that 
could  hardly  have  belonged  there  originally. 

Within  the  church,  grouped  under  the 
shadow  of  the  chief  shrine — the  Holy  Sepulchre 
itself — behold  the  brilliant  congregation  of 
lesser  shrines  that  are  located,  each  and  all, 
but  an  easy  stone's  throw — nay,  but  a  few 
yards  from  the  portal  of  that  Sepulchre. 
Mount  Calvary,  rising  but  fourteen  and  one- 
half  feet  above  the  pavement  of  the  church, 
and  containing,  within  the  Chapel  of  the  Rais- 
ing of  the  Cross,  the  hole  in  the  rock,  silver- 
mounted,  where  the  Cross  stood,  and  the  two 
holes  for  the  crosses  of  the  thieves ;  the  cleft  in 
the  rock,  with  metal-tipped  edge,  where  the 


i62      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

earth  was  rent  on  that  dreadful  day — a  cleft 
which  is  said  to  extend  to  the  very  centre  of 
the  globe;  the  Chapel  of  the  Agony,  where 
Our  Lord  was  nailed  to  the  Cross;  the  spot 
where  He  was  taken  down  from  the  Cross ;  the 
spot  where  the  three  Marys  stood — all  these  are 
upon  the  little  summit  of  the  mountain,  in  one 
comer  of  the  church. 

Under  Calvary,  or  Golgotha,  is  the  tomb  of 
Adam,  the  first  man,  upon  whose  head  the 
Blood  of  Christ  dripped  through  the  cleft  in  the 
rock,  thus  restoring  the  dead  to  life.  It  is 
Adam's  skull  that  is  placed  at  the  foot  of  a 
crucifix.  Then  there  are  the  tombs  of  Mel- 
chisedek,  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  Nicodemus, 
Godfrey  de  Bouillon,  and  Baldwin, — all  under 
the  one  roof. 

You  have  only  to  walk  a  few  paces,  and 
you  come  upon  shrines  in  such  rapid  succession 
that  their  names  and  number  are  quite  distract- 
ing. Here  is  the  place  where  Our  Lord  was 
crowned  with  thorns;  a  little  farther  on,  the 
spot  where  He  appeared  to  Mary  Magdalene ; 
then  the  pillar  to  which  He  was  bound  during 
the  scourging;  the  slab  on  which  His  Body  was 
laid  for  the  anointing ;  the  spot  where  He  stood 
when  He  first  appeared  to  His  Blessed  Mother, 
after  His  resurrection — a  stone  marking  the 
very  centre  of  the  earth ;  the  place  from  which 
the  dust  was  taken,  out  of  which  Adam,  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       163 

first  man,  was  formed ;  the  place  where  Christ's 
garments  were  parted;  the  place  where  the 
True  Cross  was  found,  etc.  I  was  told  that 
to  this  day  you  are  shown,  if  you  choose  to  see 
it,  the  spot  where  the  cock  crew  thrice. 

These  shrines  within  the  church  were  mostly 
consecrated  at  the  time  of  the  visit  of  the 
Empress  Helena,  mother  of  Constantine,  A. 
D.  326. 

Is  it  a  matter  of  wonder  that,  through  sieges, 
vicissitudes,  changes  of  government,  and  the 
perpetual  strife  among  the  fanatics  of  many 
and  various  creeds,  the  shrines  have  become 
somewhat  confused? — no  one  need  say  any- 
thing harsher  of  them.  They  are  divided,  with 
scrupulous  nicety  as  to  number  and  value, 
among  the  Latins,  Greeks,  Armenians,  Copts, 
Jacobites,  Syrians,  and  Abyssinians.  The 
decorations  vary  according  to  the  national  taste 
of  the  guardians  of  each  shrine.  Perhaps 
there  is  always  over-much  gilt  and  tinsel ;  this 
is  especially  the  case  with  the  interior  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre.  But  we  cannot  hope  to  agree 
upon  matters  of  taste ;  it  is  individual  in  every 
instance. 

After  a  hasty  visit  to  the  whole  series  of 
shrines,  during  which  I  had  been  up-stairs  to 
Golgotha,  and  down-stairs  to  the  Chapel  of  the 
Invention  of  the  Cross,  and  was  swept  along 
with  the  strong  current  of  sight-seers  that  gave 


1 64      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

me  no  opportunity  for  even  one  moment  of 
silent  meditation  at  any  shrine  whatever,  I 
came  at  last  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  paused 
at  the  threshold,  awaiting  my  turn  to  enter. 

The  Holy  Sepulchre !  This  shrine,  as  it  now 
stands,  is  no  sepulchre.  There  is  no  trace  of  a 
grotto,  or  of  a  cavity  in  the  rock,  or  of  the  rock 
itself.  Under  the  great  dome  of  the  church,  in 
the  centre  of  an  amphitheatre,  surrounded  by 
two  lofty  galleries,  with  arches,  pictures, 
statues,  lamps,  and  banners,  is  a  chapel;  it 
resembles  a  mausoleum;  it  is  sixteen  sided, 
twenty-six  feet  in  length  by  seventeen  and 
one-half  in  breadth. 

Guards  stand  at  the  small  door  of  it,  under  a 
silken  canopy  that  stretches  nearly  to  one  side 
of  the  dome,  and  among  colossal  candelabra; 
they  busy  themselves  with  the  mob,  that  con- 
tinually presses  eagerly  about  the  threshold  of 
the  Sepulchre. 

For  some  time  I  was  jostled  to  and  fro  by  the 
excited  multitude,  rebuffed  repeatedly  by  the 
uncivil  guards,  and  irritated  beyond  measure 
by  the  rudeness  and  irreverence  which  prevail 
in  Jerusalem,  and  especially  in  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

At  length  my  turn  came.  Suddenly  the 
guards,  who  until  now  seemed  to  have  no  inter- 
est in  me,  or  in  any  one  in  particular,  seized 
me,  and  assisted  me  in  forcing  an  entrance, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       165 

against  the  will  of  another  party,  who  insisted 
upon  preceding  me.  Thus  I  found  myself  in  a 
chamber,  measuring  sixteen  feet  by  ten,  which 
is  called  the  Chapel  of  the  Angel.  In  the 
centre  of  this  chapel  is  a  huge  stone,  said  to  be 
that  which  the  angel  rolled  away  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Sepulchre,  and  on  which  he  was 
seen  seated  after  Our  Lord  rose  again  from  the 
dead. 

The  chapel  was  dimly  lighted ;  a  few  figures 
were  grouped  about  the  stone,  but  I  knew  none 
of  these — indeed  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
distinguish  one  from  another  in  that  half  light. 

Some  one  emerged  from  a  low  door  in  the 
farther  wall  of  the  chamber;  he  filled  the 
aperture  for  a  moment,  and  then  I  saw  a  flood 
of  light  beyond  him,  and  inhaled  a  delicious 
breath  of  incense.  With  breathless  awe  I 
stooped  to  enter  the  inner  chapel,  and  to  my 
inexpressible  joy  found  that  the  sole  occupant 
was  a  priest  in  splendid  vestments,  who  stood 
as  motionless  as  a  statue,  nor  turned  his  face 
nor  his  glance  as  I  approached  him. 

This  chapel  is  but  six  and  one-half  feet  in 
length  by  six  in  width.  Numberless  precious 
lamps  swing  from  the  low  ceiling.  Like  living 
flowers,  they  seem  to  exhale  exquisite  per- 
fumes. On  the  right  of  the  chapel  is  an  altar 
of  marble ;  it  is  five  feet  in  length,  two  feet  in 
breadth,  and  three  feet  in  height.     The  wall 


i66      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

above  the  altar  is  covered  with  gaudy  reliefs 
and  pictures,  wrought  in  silver  and  gold. 
Mass  is  said  here  daily;  the  lamps  bum  for- 
ever; and  forever  there  is  one  standing 
motionless,  with  gaze  fixed  upon  that  altar, 
and  soul  wrapped  in  a  meditation  that  is  deaf 
to  the  voices  of  this  world;  for  this  is  the 
Tomb  of  Our  Lord. 

If  there  is  one  spot  on  earth  more  precious 
to  me  than  all  others, — one  shrine  which  I  have 
held  most  sacred,  and  the  very  thought  of 
approaching  which  has  ever  filled  me  with  awe, 
it  is  the  Sepulchre  of  Our  Lord. 

I  knelt  by  it,  offering  my  handful  of  rosaries 
and  pious  objects,  that  they  might  receive  a 
new  and  final  virtue;  and  while  I  knelt,  per- 
fectly dazed  at  finding  no  grotto,  no  semblance 
of  a  tomb — nothing,  in  fact,  but  gaudy  sculp- 
ture and  a  blaze  of  golden  lamps — while  I 
knelt  there  helplessly,  hopelessly,  striving  to 
recollect  myself,  some  one  jostled  me  rudely, 
and  I  turned,  to  find  two  professional  tourists 
"doing"  the  Sepulchre  in  a  business  way. 
They  were  evidently  Americans,  probably  New 
Englanders,  and  noticeably  non-Catholic.  One 
of  them,  doubtless  the  husband  of  the  lady  who 
was  as  vulgarly  curious  as  he,  tapped  one  of  the 
wonderful  swinging  lamps  with  his  forefinger, 
and  said  in  a  voice  quite  audible :  "I  wonder  if 
these  are  the  genuine  article,  or  only  plated?" 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       167 

Our  few  moments  were  soon  over,  but  none 
too  soon.  A  disorderly  crowd  impatiently 
awaited  us  without;  and,  with  deranged  gar- 
ments, a  ruffled  temper,  and  a  heart  that  was 
in  nowise  peaceful,  I  repaired  to  my  monastery 
forthwith. 

There  is  a  pale,  domed,  and  minareted 
mosque  in  the  Via  Dolorosa,  just  over  the  way 
from  the  convent  of  Pere  Ratisbonne.  At 
dusk  in  the  Holy  City,  at  the  close  of  a  weary 
day  of  sight-seeing,  I  looked  in  vain  for  some 
testimony  of  the  faith  which  sprang  into  life 
through  the  Passion  and  Cross  of  Our  Lord. 

The  Way  of  Grief  lay  under  my  feet.  To 
the  right,  hidden  among  the  thousand  low, 
g^ay  roofs  of  the  city,  was  the  place  of  the 
Sepulchre ;  to  the  left,  the  Mount  of  the  Trans- 
figuration. It  was  there,  from  beginning  to 
end — the  profoundly  melancholy  history  that 
passeth  all  understanding.  I  took  it  in  at  a 
glance;  yet  at  that  moment  the  only  visible 
evidence  of  faith  that  I  was  able  to  discern,  as 
far  as  my  eyes  could  penetrate  the  accumu- 
lating shadows,  was  the  forms  of  the  devout 
Mohammedans  prostrated  upon  their  house- 
tops before  the  empty  altars  that  stand  over 
against  Mecca;  and  the  only  sound  I  heard — a 
voice  that  rang  long  and  clear,  and  high  above 
the  subsiding  hum  of  the  day's  toil  and  traffic 
— was  the  triumphant  cry  of  the  tnuezzin  as  he 


i68      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

ff  ^'^''""*\v  l^^^^d  from  the  gallery  of  his  minaret 

^^"^  aloft,  among  the  stars. 


Holy  Week   in   the   Holy  City!     The 
ceremonies  of  this  blessed  season 
in  Jerusalem  are  so  strangely  or- 
dered that  the  effect  is  utterly 
confusing;    I  found  it   quite  im- 
possible to  follow  them  with  any 
^^     degree  of  satisfaction.     No  two  of 
'.      ]    the  schismatic  tribes  work  in  har- 
^    '^  mony,  and  the  consequence  is  a 
^     general  overturn  of  the    custom- 
ary routine   as  observed   almost 
every  wehre  else  in  the  Christian  world. 
•     Each  of   the  Oriental   sects  has  a 
church  or  a  chapel  independent 
of  the  great  Church  of  the  Holy 

m    Sepulchre,  and  there  the  sev- 
\  eral    liturgies    are    rigorously 
followed.     We  wandered  from 
\^  church   to  church,  and  from 
chapel  to  chapel,  and   were 
kept  informed  as  to  which 
'.  \  of  the  many  was  the  one 
affording  the  most  inter- 
esting, if  not   the  most 
edifying,  spectacle.     As 
a  consequence,  our  days 
were  full  of  weariness, 
and  our  nights  without 


THE  HOLY  FIRE. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       169 

rest ;  many  a  time  and  oft  we  sat  us  down  in  a 
comer,  apart  from  the  clamor  of  the  multitude, 
and  longed  with  ardor  unspeakable  for  the 
sweet  and  sad  solemnity  of  the  offices  as  said 
and  sung  in  the  far-oflE  and  retired  hamlets,  of 
which  no  man  knoweth,  save  only  the  contented 
souls  who  have  been  bom  and  reared  there. 

The  triangfular  sections  of  the  floor  of  the 
Church  of  the  Sepulchre  allotted  to  the  various 
branches  of  Christendom,  are  in  Holy  Week 
swarming  with  devotees  of  the  several 
Churches,  and  the  rites  and  ceremonies  there 
practiced  are  diverting ;  but  the  space  is  limited, 
and  the  commotion  a  sore  distraction. 

Nor  do  the  streets  of  the  Holy  City  tend  to 
prepare  one  for  the  meditations  which  should 
absorb  the  mind  and  the  heart  at  such  a  time 
and  in  such  a  place.  All  the  nations  of  the 
earth  are  gathered  together  in  a  perpetual 
pageant.  Splendid  costumes,  worn  by  a  pre- 
tentious people,  who  approach  the  Tomb  of 
Our  Lord  with  more  pomp  than  the  three 
Kings  who  sought  His  Crib,  fairly  dazzle  the 
eyes.  All  the  beasts  of  burden,  save  only  the 
elephant,  troop  to  and  fro,  magnificently 
caparisoned;  and  these  bewilder  the  more 
humble  worshipers,  who  crowd  into  nooks 
and  comers  at  intervals,  to  escape  the  huge 
sides  of  swaying  camels,  or  the  sharp  hoofs  of 
frightened  asses. 


I70      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Easter  was,  indeed,  a  day  of  rejoicing — of 
tumultuous  rejoicing  within  and  without  the  city 
gates.  At  our  breakfast  plates,  in  the  convent 
refectory,  were  placed  Easter  eggs,  beautifully 
tinted  and  elaborately  arabesqued,  and  each 
bore  the  legend  "Jerusalem."  These,  of 
course,  we  brought  away  with  us  as  souvenirs 
of  the  most  sacred  season  in  the  most  sacred 
city  on  the  earth. 

We  had  also  a  blessed  palm — it  was  an  olive- 
branch  from  the  Mount  of  Olives — and  the 
document,  nobly  worded  in  resounding  Latin, 
signed  by  the  secretary  of  the  Holy  Land,  and 
certifying  that  we  had  visited  all  the  shrines, 
attended  to  our  Easter  duties,  and  were  now 
indeed  worthy  to  be  called  hadji,  or  pilgrim. 

We  had  purchased  leaflets  bearing  pressed 
flowers  plucked  in  Gethsemane  and  at  many  of 
the  holy  places  in  and  about  the  city;  had 
visited  for  the  last  time  the  sites  most  sacred 
in  our  eyes,  and  were  ready — yea,  willing  to 
go.  It  was  a  bewildering  experience,  that  had 
again  and  again  driven  us  to  the  verge  of 
distraction.  And  no  wonder ;  for  some  of  the 
scenes  we  witnessed,  though  by  no  means 
pleasant  in  memory,  are  surely  never  to  be 
forgotten.     Let  me  describe  one  of  these. 

The  miracle  of  the  Holy  Fire  is  the  only 
occasion  of  any  special  importance,  and  this  is 
certainly    without    a    rival    in     Christendom. 


A  CfetriSE  UNt)fiR  I'Hfi  CRESCENT.      171 

Holy  Saturday,  the  eve  of  Easter,  is  the  day 
on  which  this  miracle  takes  place.  Thousands 
of  Greek  and  Russian  pilgrims  visit  Jerusalem 
during  Holy  Week;  all  these  devotees  make 
sure  of  seeing  this  famous  miracle.  The 
Church,  on  Good  Friday,  is  thronged ;  many  of 
those  who  are  in  the  church  on  this  day  have 
with  them  mats,  provisions,  water,  and  cigar- 
ettes, and  are  thus  enabled  to  spend  the  night 
in  the  temporary  galleries  erected  under  the 
lower  arches  of  the  rotunda,  and  to  remain 
until  after  the  miracle  takes  place,  which  is 
usually  at  2.00  p.  m.,  on  Saturday.  Meanwhile 
they  smoke,  chat — the  uproar  in  the  church  is 
deafening — get  into  difficulty  with  those  who 
seek  to  usurp  their  places,  and  are  forcibly 
separated  by  the  Turkish  guards,  who  are  on 
this  occasion  distributed  thickly  throughout  the 
church. 

The  Russian  pilgrims  are,  for  the  most  part, 
a  brutal  and  ignorant  race,  whose  fanaticism  on 
Holy  Thursday  knows  no  bound,  save  the  wall 
of  Turkish  infantry  that  is  drawn  up  around 
them,  with  fixed  bayonets.  As  I  was  passing 
through  the  aisle  of  the  church,  on  my  way  to 
the  Latin  convent  adjoining,  and  through  which 
I  was  to  gain  access  to  the  upper  gallery  of  the 
rotunda,  I  was  overtaken  by  a  mob  of  Rus- 
sians, who  were  quite  mad  with  excitement. 
They  were  naked  to  the    waist,  were  linked 


172      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


arm-in-arm,  and  were  rushing  round  and  round 
under  the  aisle,  shrieking  at  the  top  of  their 
voices.  Had  not  a  small  body  of  soldiers 
beaten  them  back  with  the  butts 
of  their  muskets,  I  and  the  party 
I  was  with  would  probably  have 
been  trampled  under  foot  by 
two-score  maniacs.  It  was  with 
the  utmost  difficulty  that  I 
gained  the  left  porch,  which  had 
been  reserved  for  me  by  a  Syrian 
friend ;  and  when  I  looked  down 
upon  the  scene  below,  I  won- 
dered that  the  earth  did  not 
again  open  and  swallow  up  the 
infamous  spectacle. 

The  lamps  within  and  without 
the  sepulchre  were  extinguished ; 
a  few  hundred  of  the  more  fer- 
vid Russians  had  been  for  hours 
hugging  the  walls  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre;  some  of  them  were 
lashed  to  it  with  ropes,  lest  the 
excited  mob  should  sweep  them 
away,  or  they  be  unable  to  retain 
their  position  in  consequence  of 
faintness  and  fatigue.  A  regi- 
ment of  Turkish  infantry  sur- 
rounded the  chapel,  keeping  an 
'    open  passage   quite   around  it. 


THE  ILLUMINATED   CROSS. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       173 

and  connecting  with  the  Greek  chapel  opposite 
the  door  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

As  the  hour  of  two  drew  near,  the  excite- 
ment increased.  Already  the  Greek  priests, 
having  passed  thrice  around  the  sepulchre, 
chanting,  had  retired  hastily  to  their  chapel, 
under  the  protecting  bayonets  of  the  Turks. 
Meanwhile,  the  mad  Russians,  reeking  with 
sweat,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  dancing  up  and 
down,  and  shaking  their  fists  at  the  walls  of 
the  sepulchre,  shrieked  at  the  top  of  their 
voices:  "Jesus  Christ  has  died  for  us!  Jesus 
Christ  has  died  for  us!"  This  over  and  over, 
growing  more  and  more  wild  at  every  cry; 
while  they  leaped  into  the  air,  clapping  their 
hands,  and  beating  one  another  in  the  utmost 
frenzy. 

On  the  two  sides  of  the  sepulchre,  near 
the  entrance,  are  round  or  oval  apertures, 
usually  closed.  On  Holy  Saturday  these 
holes  are  open;  it  is  the  wish  of  every  good 
Greek  or  Russian  to  get  as  near  them  as  pos- 
sible, for  out  of  these  apertures  issues  the 
holy  fire. 

•  Finally,  the  priest  enters  the  sepulchre,  and 
extinguishes  the  lamps.  At  an  uncertain 
period,  terminating  not  far  from  2.00  p.  m., 
lighted  tapers  are  thrust  out  of  the  apertures, 
and  these  tapers  are  supposed  to  have  been  lit 
by  fire  sent  straight  from  heaven.     In  conse- 

12 


174      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

quence  of  this  miracle,  the  fire  is  very  precious, 
and  it  is  the  wish  of  every  one  present  to  get 
a  portion  of  it  as  soon  as  possible.  When 
the  excitement  below  was  at  its  height,  the 
Russians  were  storming  the  walls  of  the 
sepulchre  as  if  they  would  bring  them  down 
about  their  ears,  the  mob  was  suddenly  stirred 
by  an  impulse;  and  at  that  moment  I  saw  a 
bundle  of  tapers,  enveloped  in  flames,  thrust 
suddenly  out  of  the  aperture  opposite  me.  All 
the  throng,  each  with  his  bundle  of  tapers, 
rushed  upon  the  fire;  the  guards  beat  them 
back  again  and  again.  The  flames  slowly 
spread;  swift  runners,  with  blazing  torches, 
hurried  into  every  part  of  the  great  church; 
ropes,  with  tapers  at  the  end,  were  let  down 
from  the  two  galleries  of  the  rotunda;  the 
tapers  were  lighted  and  drawn  up;  the  flames 
spread  from  arch  to  arch.  In  ten  minutes 
from  the  moment  the  tapers  were  thrust  from 
the  Holy  Sepulchre,  the  entire  building  was 
one  hollow  pyramid  of  flame.  The  air  grew 
thick  with  smoke ;  the  idea  of  escape  was  out 
of  the  question ;  the  smoke  and  the  excitement 
and  rush  of  the  mob  must  first  subside.  The 
half-naked  Russians  near  the  sepulchre  smeared 
their  faces  and  trunks  with  the  melting  and 
blazing  wax.  They  believe  that  they  are  thus 
purified  by  fire,  and  report  says  they  are  never 
burned.     Of  this  I  know  nothing,  though  I  saw 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       175 


them  do  wonders  in  the  way  of  moulding  burn- 
ing wax  with  their  hands. 

In  1834,  during  this  miracle  of  the  Greek  fire, 
while  the  church  was  crowded  with  excited 
fanatics,  a  panic  occurred,  in  which  nearly 
three  hvindred  pilgrims  were  suffocated  or 
trampled  to  death.  It  has  now  become  the 
custom  to  clear  the  church,  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet,  whenever  blood  has  been  shed  within 
its  sacred  walls.  But  for  this  precaution  on 
the  part  of  the  infidel  government  the  Chris- 
tians would  probably  exterminate  themselves 
in  the  course  of  a  very  few  years.  The  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  during  the  miracle  of 
the  fire  on  Holy  Saturday,  is  a  vision  of  hell, 
such  as  even  Dante  might  have  shuddered  at. 
Sick  with  the  long  fast  and  the  uncommon 
excitement,  I  sought  my  quiet  cell 
in  the  Austrian  Hospice. 

That  night,  while  all  the  stars 
throbbed  in  the  intensely  blue- 
not    blue-black — sky,    I    saw  a 
cross  of  fire  hovering  over  the 
city.     It  glowed  with  a  radi- 
ance that  dimmed  the  lustre 
of  even  the  Syrian  stars;   it 
seemed  to  be  floating  in  the    \\ 
air;    it  might  have   been   sup- 
ported in  the  arms  of  angels,  for 
all  I  know.     I  looked  again,  and, 


FANATICISM. 


176      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

remembering  that  under  that  cross  once 
stood  the  veritable  Cross;  that  within  the 
soft  radiance  of  that  sacred  symbol  occurred 
the  scenes  of  Our  Lord's  Passion  and  Death, 
for  a  swift  second  or  two  came  the  flood-tide  of 
emotion — the  flood-tide  that  sweeps  away  all  of 
the  folly  and  the  fiction  and  the  mortification 
of  the  day's  labor  and  pain.  And  that  second 
or  two,  let  it  come  but  once  in  a  lifetime,  is 
worth  the  terrible  shock  (to  faith  and  hope  and 
charity)  of  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem. 

The  Syrian  Coast!  One  may  go  overland 
to  Nazareth,  with  tents  and  retainers,  at  no 
little  risk  and  considerable  expense;  or  he 
may  take  ship  and  follow  the  coast-line  to  the 
nearest  port,  at  a  great  saving  of  time  and 
trouble.     I  chose  the  latter  course. 

The  many  steamers — English,  French,  Aus- 
trian, Russian,  and  Italian — that  touch  along 
the  Syrian  coast  before  and  after  Easter,  are 
loaded  to  the  water's  edge  with  pilgrims.  For 
the  most  part  these  pilgrims  are  miserable 
beyond  conception.  They  cover  the  decks; 
are  crowded  into  the  hold  of  the  ship ;  fill  the 
small  boats  that  are  swung  to  the  davits  over 
the  vessel's  side,  and  sit  day  after  day  in  their 
wretched  nests,  fearing  to  quit  them  even  for 
a  moment,  lest  they  be  unable  to  regain  them. 

The  accommodations  are,  in  most  cases, 
infamous;  the  overladen  ships  reek  with  foul 


odors,  and  swarm  with  ver- 
min. Even  the  first-class 
passengers  are  sometimes 
obliged  to  stop  within  the 
stuffy  cabin,  there  being  no 
room  for  exercise  on  deck, 
where  the  multitude  are 
penned  like  sheep,  and  as 
patiently  await  the  hour  of 
their  deliverance.  A  panic 
at  such  a  time  would  doubt- 
less result  in  the  loss  of  hun- 
dreds of  lives.  I  thought  of 
this  as  our  brave  little  Russian 
steamer,  with  the  unpro- 
nounceable name,  lay  over  to  starboard  in  the 
port  of  Jaffa,  and  crept  all  the  way  up  the 
coast  with  her  side-lights  under  water. 

Fourteen  hundred  unhappy  souls  were  at  the 
mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves.  Fortunately, 
the  sea  was  as  glass.  I  sincerely  believe  that 
one  good  roller,  such  as  the  Mediterranean 
heaves  up  on  the  slightest  provocation,  would 
have  sent  us  clean  over ;  and,  though  we  were 
177 


AKKA. 


178      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


never  very  far  from  shore,  we  would  probably 
have  all  gone  to  the  bottom  in  a  solid  mass. 
Everybody  tried  to  be  indifferent  to  the 
danger  that  threatened  us,  and  so  the  time 
wore  on. 

We  watched  the  coast-line  all  the  afternoon, 
and  thought  it  moderately  interesting.  Sunset 
found  us  under  a  fine  bluff  at  the  point  of  a 
harbor.  How  we  praised  that  dome-like  rock 
towering  in  the  east,  flushed  with  the  fading 
light!  For  the  time  we  forgot  our  misery, 
and  grew  enthusiastic ;  but  what  wonder,  inas- 
much as  this  was  Mount  Carmel!  As  there 
were  no  passengers  for  Haifa — the  little  town 
that  nestles  at  the  foot  of  the  sacred  mountain 
— we  crept  on  in  the  twilight  over  the  smooth 


and 


swung  round  in  a   shallow  be- 
fore Acre,  on  the  other  horn  of 
the  bay.     Here  I  was  at  lib- 
erty to  seek  the  shore,  and 
bade    adieu    to    the    pil- 
grims, whose  faces  were 
set  toward  their   far- 
distant  homes. 

All  that  is  left  of  in- 
terest in  Acre  is  the 
barest    outline    of    its 
sanguinary  history.    Be- 
sieged   again   and   again 
-^     by  Persians,  Arabs,  Cru- 


THE  GATEWAY 
OF  AKKA. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     179 

saders,  French,  English,  Austrians,  and  Turks, 
I  wonder  that  a  soul  is  left  to  inhabit  so 
ill-fated  a  spot.  The  tribe  of  Ashur  dwelt 
there ;  the  Crusaders  made  it  their  chief  point 
of  entry;  Napoleon  I,  after  eight  desperate 
assaults  upon  it,  was  at  last  obliged  to  abandon 
the  siege.  Ibrahim  Pasha,  with  his  Egyptian 
army,  threw  thirty-five  thousand  bombs  into 
the  town,  but  failed  to  enter  it  himself  at  that 
time. 

In  1840  the  united  fleets  of  England,  Austria, 
and  Turkey  trained  their  guns  upon  it,  and  let 
drive.  A  powder  magazine  exploded  within 
the  town,  and  two  thousand  Egyptians  were 
blown  into  the  air,  a  fountain  of  living  blood. 
The  place  reeks  with  bloody  memories,  and  it 
is  a  pleasure  to  quit  it  for  a  brisk  ride  of  two 
hours  and  a  half  along  the  shore  to  Carmel. 

Haifa,  the  little  town  at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Carmel,  has  bled  in  her  day.  Like  Acre,  her 
history  is  discolored  all  the  way  down  from  the 
time  of  the  Phoenicians. 

It  is  Carmel !  A  road  winds  through  ancient 
olive  orchards,  along  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain ;  then  there  is  a  short,  hard  climb  up  steep 
steps  cut  in  the  rocky  slope ;  a  rest  at  the  way- 
side-cross, or  at  one  of  the  small  chapels  that 
dot  the  cliff ;  and  there,  under  the  bluest  pos- 
sible sky,  above  the  bluest  possible  sea,  alone 
on  its  wind-swept  eyry  stands  the  monastery. 


l8o      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

The  hospice  is  perched  five  hundred  feet 
above  the  shore;  the  brow  of  Carmel  soars 
twelve  hundred  feet  higher,  and  tears  the 
clouds  into  ribbons,  when  the  wind  is  wild,  and 
the  sea  breaking  darkly  and  angrily  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain.  Solomon  knew  the  majestic 
beauty  of  this  solitary  sea-sentinel  when  he 
sang: 

Thine  head  upon  thee  is  like  Carmel. 
Elijah  knew  it  when  he  gathered  together  at  its 
base  the  priests  of  Baal,  and  gave  proof  of  the 
omnipotence  of  the  living  God.  From  this 
height  he  looked  out  over  the  sea,  and  awaited 
the  rising  of  the  little  cloud,  "no  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand,"  but  out  of  which  was  to  issue  the 
floods  that  followed  those  years  of  famine  and 
drouth.  In  those  days  the  Cison  swelled  sud- 
denly— "that  ancient  river,  the  River  Cison," 
which  we  forded  down  in  the  plain  yonder. 

Hermits  were  wont  to  flock  thither,  and 
dwell  in  the  caves  of  Carmel.  Pythagoras 
visited  it,  and  tarried  awhile ;  St.  Louis  made 
a  pilgrimage  to  its  hallowed  heights.  Then 
followed  trials  and  tribulations — the  slaughter 
of  the  monks  who  dwelt  there ;  the  sacking  of 
the  convent;  the  desecration  of  the 
chapel,  which  was  converted  into  a 
mosque;  and  finally,  the  total  de- 
struction of  the  building  by  the 
Turks,  who  feared  it  might  be 


'.      luf^^Z^^ 


\ 

MOUNT   CARMEL. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       i8i 

used  as  a  hospital  for  the  wounded  of  their 
enemies,  as  was  once  the  case. 

Thereupon  Brother  Giovanni  Batista,  of 
Frascati,  set  forth  to  gather  money  for  the 
rebuilding  of  the  holy  house  of  his  Order.  For 
the  space  of  fourteen  years,  he  went  hither  and 
thither  over  the  world,  preaching,  beseeching, 
gathering  a  little  here,  a  little  there,  and 
finally  living  to  see  the  ancient  house  restored 
and  well  fortified,  and  his  Brothers  as  busy  as 
bees  in  the  hive  on  the  serene  slopes  of  Car- 
mel. 

Slipping  more  or  less  awkwardly  down  the 
steep  path  onto  the  plains  that  lie  east  of 
Mount  Carmel,  I  dropped  into  a  long  revery, 
that  was  scarcely  broken  for  the  next  eight  and 
forty  hours.  There  were  many  small  villages, 
which  we  entered,  and  where  we  baited  our 
horses;  hearing  the  while  the  old,  old  story 
told  over  and  over  again,  and  finding  it  newer 
to-day  than  ever. 

Here  at  Shunem,  now  known  as  Salem,  a 
great  woman  of  the  village  made  a  little  cham- 
ber in  the  wall,  and  set  there  a  bed,  a  stool, 
and  a  candlestick, — this  is  surely  enough  to 
furnish  a  prophet- chamber.  When  the  child  of 
her  old  age,  smitten  by  sunstroke,  was  taken  to 
his  mother,  "she  set  him  on  her  knees  until 
noon:  and  then  he  died."  What  did  that 
sorrowing    mother    in    her    extremity?      She 


i82      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

hastened  up  into  the  heights  of  Carmel,  and 
sought  out  the  prophet  whom  she  had  be- 
friended, and  he  gave  her  back  her  son  again. 

Yonder  is  Endor,  where  the  astonishing 
witch  kept  company  with  her  tribe  of  imps; 
and  here  is  Nain,  where  Our  Lord  met  the 
woman  weeping,  and,  turning  to  the  bier  over 
which  she  wept,  he  said:  "Young  man,  I  say 
unto  thee,  Arise :  and  he  that  was  dead  sat  up, 
and  began  to  speak. ' ' 

Through  such  scenes  as  these  we  come  to 
Nazareth.  The  hills  gather  about  it,  as  if  to 
guard  it  from  the  eyes  of  the  world.  It  nes- 
tles on  a  slope,  among  olive  orchards,  and 
meadows  bright  with  flowers.  Is  it  any  won- 
der that  we  ride,  Indian  file,  hour  after  hour, 
silently,  thoughtfully,  clipping  the  blossoms 
from  the  tall  stalks,  as  we  pass  them  at  an  easy 
gait? 

The  birds  sing  to  us ;  the  flowers  nod  to  us ; 
we  eat,  drink,  refresh  ourselves  by  the  way- 
side, and  are  even  shown  through  the  length 
and  the  breadth  of  the  village,  without  saying 
anything,  or  caring  to  say  anything — perhaps 
without  having  anything  to  say. 

When  it  was  all  over — the  grateful  rest  in 
Nazareth;  the  little  pilgrimages  to  the  work- 
shop of  St.  Joseph;  the  house  of  Holy  Mary, 
or  rather  the  spot  where  it  stood  (for  the  house 
is  now  at  Loreto  in  Italy ;  and  there  I  had  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       183 


satisfaction  of  entering  it  alone,  and  realizing 
beyond  question  the  very  truth  of  its  most 
marvelous  history);  after  visiting  the  Foun- 
tain of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  the  Mount  of  Pre- 
cipitation, the  Grotto  of  the  Annunciation,  and 
the  shrines  of  minor  interest,  there  is  nothing 
to  be  seen  or  thought  of  in  Nazareth  save  the 
unpleasant  fact  that  the 
town  is  uncommonly  ill 
kept  for  one  that  must 
make  a  fair  living  out 
of  the  charity  of  the 
faithful. 

It   is    a    sad,    sweet, 
tranquil    spot.      The 
mystery  that  lies  hid- 
den from  all — the  story 
of  the  youth  and  early 
manhood  of  Our  Lord — 
hovers  over  the  haunts 
which  His  memory  has 
made    sacred.      Eight 
and   twenty   years   He 
may  have  passed  in  or 
near  Nazareth ;  of  these 
years  we  have   no 
record  save  the 
few    words 
which    seem   to 
have    dropped 


i84      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

almost  carelessly  from  the  pen  of  the  scribe : 
"And  the  Child  grew,  and  waxed  strong,  full 
of  wisdom,  and  the  grace  of  God  was  in 
Him.  ..."  He  "advanced  in  wisdom,  and 
age,  and  grace  with  God  and  men. ' ' 

That  evasive  passage  is  what  seals  our  lips ; 
is  what  awakens  in  us  a  profound  longfing  to 
find  for  ourselves  some  revelation  in  the  flower- 
ing sod  under  foot,  the  fragrant  shrubs  along 
the  wayside  that  perfume  the  air  as  we  press  by 
them,  or  in  the  deep  and  unbroken  silence  of 
the  hills  that  bend  over  Nazareth,  and  keep 
forever  and  forever  the  secret  from  the 
world. 

Mount  Tabor  looks  down  upon  us  as  we 
journey  toward  Genesareth,  or  Galilee, — the 
Mount  Tabor  whose  summit  my  childish  mind 
could  never  reach ;  for  it  seemed  to  pierce  the 
blue  depths  of  heaven,  and  lose  itself  among 
the  stars  of  night.  Mount  Tabor  is  but  a 
thousand  feet  in  height,  and  for  the  injustice 
which  it  does  my  fancy  I  turn  from  it  in  silence, 
— turn  from  it  to  find  more  winding  ways,  and 
stony  hills  that  fit  in  together  like  cog-wheels ; 
more  villages  of  low-walled  houses,  the  walls 
plastered  with  clay,  and  again  plastered  with 
cakes  of  camel's  dung  drying  in  the  sun  for 
fuel.  There  are  thread-like  streams,  olive 
groves,  wayside  fountains,  wandering  flocks 
wherein  the  sheep  and  the  goats  mingle  freely 


— and  -- 
thus    we 
come    to 
that  lovely 
lake,  the  "blue 
Galilee"  of  the 
bard. 

It  is  blue,  as  usual.  It  mir- 
rors the  smile  of  a  perpetual 
summer,  and  invites  you  to  a 
bath,  which  is  all  that  it  prom- 
ises to  be,  and  more  too. 
After  a  day's  ride,  when  the  Bible  lands  are 
about  gone  over,  and  the  eye  begins  to  turn , 
from  more  sacred  scenes  to  the  famed  gardens 
of  Damascus,  we  pause  a  while  upon  the  bor- 
ders of  the  little  inland  sea,  and  heave  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

Can  you  wonder  at  it? — it  is  so  hard  to 
rebuild  cities  that  have  gone  back  to  the  dust ; 
it  is  so  weary  a  work  to  come  late  in  the  day  to 
the  site  of  what  has  been,  and  discover  not 
even  a  stone  upon  a  stone ;  it  is  so  dishearten- 
ing to  creep,  fagged,  hungfry,  and  lame,  to  the 
temple  of  your  idol — the  idol  you  have  worshiped 
in  secret  all  your  life — only  to  find  that  temple 
a  miserable  ruin,  and  your  idol  taken  away ! 
as 


l86      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

You  are  doing  this  continually  in  the  Holy 
Land,  and  in  the  course  of  time  you  get  used 
to  doing  it,  and  expect  to  do  it  again  and 
again;  but,  for  all  that,  it  is  none  the  less 
bitterly  disappointing.  Therefore,  when  I 
came  to  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  where  the  golden 
house  of  Herod  once  stood,  steeped  to  the 
eaves  thereof  in  voluptuous  vice,  I  learned  that 
the  fleas  were  so  many  and  so  manly,  a  proverb 
has  gone  abroad  to  the  eiBEect  that  the  king  of 
fleas  lives  at  Tiberias. 

This  is  the  very  first  impression  one  receives 
as  he  sits  down  by  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  col- 
lect his  thoughts  a  little,  and  to  muse  over  the 
past.  But  the  mood  passes;  the  hills  sleep  in 
the  afternoon  sunshine;  a  lazy  sail  drifts  in 
the  middle  distance — one  of  the  clumsy  crafts 
in  which  the  fishermen  venture  when  the  air 
is  dead,  and  the  water  perfectly  level. 

They  draw  no  miraculous  draughts  nowadays, 
tho^e  Galileans;  and  when  the  gale  plunges 
headlong  into  this  deep  valley — we  are  six 
hundred  feet  below  the  level  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean— and  ploughs  up  the  holy  sea  ruthlessly, 
there  is  no  voice  to  still  it.  Alas!  even  if 
there  were,  ninety-nine  hundredths  of  those 
who  chanced  to  hear  it,  and  behold  the  sea 
crouching  at  the  sound  of  it,  would  consider  it 
a  very  happy  coincidence. 

Blue   Galilee  is    but    sixteen    and    one-half 


miles  in  length,  and 
from  four  to  seven  and 
one-half  in  breadth; 
but  it  has  floated  fleets  in  its  day, 
and  can  do  it  again  if  necessary. 
The  primal  flush  of  its  glory  has  faded;  its 
proud  city  is  no  more;  the  gardens,  gfroves, 
terraces,  and  gilded  domes  live  only  in  a  mem- 
ory almost  as  old  as  the  hills.  Coming  to 
Galilee  one  evening,  and  gathering  myself 
together  in  a  secluded  spot,  where  the  spirit 
of  the  hour  might  bring  to  life  whatever  is  best 
in  me,  or  in  any  man,  I  struck  a  light,  drew 
lazy  clouds  of  smoke  from  my  cigar,  and 
watched  them  as  they  floated  away  like  fairy 

islands  in  that  other  undiscovered  sea — the  sky. 
187 


i88      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

It  was  a  still  hour,  and  a  soothing  scene ;  yet 
I  could  not  think  on  Him  or  His  disciples,  nor 
on  the  golden  age  of  heathenism  that  once 
rioted  right  royally  beside  these  blighted 
shores ;  and  later,  when  the  moon  rose,  gilding 
the  rippling  waters,  and  starlight  and  shadows 
and  the  balmy  breath  of  Spring  were  thrilling 
me  with  a  kind  of  sensuous  joy,  vainly  and 
long  I  watched  and  waited — vainly  and  long 
beside  the  silent  sea,  for  the  unimaginable 
vision  that  shall  visit  me  only 

By  the  dear  might  of  Him  who  walked  the  wave. 


VI. 


DAMASCUS,  "PEARL  OF  THE  EAST." 

Now  we  are  up  and  away  for  a  tour  over  the 
Lebanon.  Beirut,  that  had  at  first  disap- 
pointed me,  grew  more  and  more  lovely  as  our 
diligence  slowly  ascended  the  green  hills  to  the 
east  of  the  town.  The  caf^s  were  crowded 
with  loungers,  and  the  suburbs  were  crowded 
with  caf^s.  Very  gay  was  the  long  road  wind- 
ing over  the  Lebanon,  where  groups  of  pleas- 
ure seekers  continually  nodded  to  one  another 
in  the  rich  glow  of  the  sunset. 

M ,  my  comrade,  in  whom  I  put  all  my 

trust,  sat  up  in  the  coupd  close  to  the  driver, 
with  very  wide-open  eyes,  and  the 
keenest  possible  ears.     I  stowed 
myself  away  in  the  cosiest  cor- 
ner of  the  cabin,  sharing        ,/^^^^ 
the    well-worn 
cushions    with  a^ 
proud-lipped    Mo- 
hammedan,   who' 
was  returning  to  his 
beloved    and   blessed 
Damascus. 

The  darkness  of  the 
night  deepened  rap-     ' 

A   BIT   OF   BEIRUT 
189 


13 


ipo      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

idly ;  long  before  we  had  gained  the  summit  of 
the  Lebanon  pass  the  lights  of  many  a  village 
glowed  softly  in  the  thick  shadows  of  the  val- 
leys far  below  us.  We  climbed  two  thousand 
feet  into  the  air,  all  the  while  casting  our  eyes 
back  upon  the  lurid  sea  in  the  west,  where  the 
young  moon  trembled  for  a  moment  and  sank 
into  the  waves.  The  lamps  were  hung  out 
upon  our  high  box ;  the  horses,  three  abreast, 
were  changed  every  hour.  We  bowled  on  at  a 
lively  pace  over  one  of  the  finest  of  turnpikes — 
the  product  of  French  enterprise — and  for 
most  of  the  way  we  had  it  all  to  ourselves. 
We  dozed  between  times,  but  woke  at  the  fre- 
quent stables,  where  there  was  over-much 
chattering,  smoking,  coffee-drinking,  and 
unnecessary  delay. 

On  the  crest  of  the  mountain  a  bitter  cold 
wind  blew  right  into  our  faces ;  I  wonder  that 

the  outside  passengers  did  not  freeze.     M 

was  on  guard  all  night,  and  kept  rousing  the 
driver,  who  would  have  slept  like  a  child  but 
for  his  passengers'  impatience.  After  a 
season,  through  which  we  seemed  to  have  been 
dragged  by  the  eyelashes,  the  tardy  dawn 
began  to  tint  the  hill-tops.  We  counted  the 
stations  on  our  fingers,  hoping  that  each  ridge 
we  climbed  might  be  our  last — as,  of  course, 
one  of  them  ultimately  proved  to  be,  and  just 
at  sunrise  we  plunged  into  a  glorious  green 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      191 


gfTOve.  This  famous  wood  reaches  to  the  foot 
of  the  desolate,  sun-parched  mountains,  and 
penetrates  the  ravines  to  the  depth  of  a  mile  or 
more. 

Down  one  of  the  leafy  gorges  we  hastened. 
There  was  a  sound  of  gushing  waters  on  every 
side ;  they  flowed  beneath  us  in  swift,  dancing 
currents;   they  were  heard  above   our  heads, 
rushing  through  aqueducts  built  into  the  steep 
walls  of  the  ravine ;  again  and  again  the  brim- 
ming tide  overleaped  the  airy  channels  and  fell 
headlong,  a  cataract  of  golden  dust.      Every 
leaf  was  glossy  in  the  sunlight ;  arrows  of  flame 
shot  through  the  dense  boughs  over  us ; 
and  out  of  the  shimmering  haze  that    ^  w    ^ 
floated  beyond  the  mouth  of  the  ravine 
sprang    clusters    of     jeweled 
minarets,  like  fairy  lances 
tipped    with    diamonds. 
The     exquisite     odor    of 
blossoming  citron   per- 
fumed the    air;    the    call 
of  the  viuezzin  rose  like 
a  triumphant    song, — ^- 
clear,  high,  and  full  of 
confidence.  As  far  "  ^  ~ 
as  the  eye    could 
reach  there 
were  billows  of  ■ 
foliage  toss-     A-^;^^  /  harbor  of  beirut. 


192     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


ing  and  sparkling  in  the  resplendent  light  of 
the  new  day. 

This  is  the  vision  the 
saw  after  the  weariness 
ert.  Foot-sore  and 
travel,  Mohammed 
on  the  height  above 
cus,  and  was  rav-. 


Prop  het 
of  the  des- 
faint  with 
stood  up- 
D  amas- 
ished   b  y 


THE  FIRST   GLIMPSE  OF  DAMASCUS. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     193 

the  beauty  he  beheld.  Then  he  said :  "But  one 
paradise  is  allowed  to  man;  I  will  not  enter 
mine  in  this  world,"  and  so  saying  he  turned 
back  into  the  wilderness,  and  pitched  his  tent 
there.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  Prophet 
was  right,  for  he  doubtless  delighted  his  soul 
ever  after  with  the  memory  of  that  vision ;  had 
he  entered  the  city,  much  of  its  seeming  loveli- 
ness would  have  vanished  like  the  mirage. 

No  sooner  had  we  come  to  the  city  walls,  and 
been  welcomed  by  an  indolent  company  of 
Damascenes,  than  one  of  these  laid  hands  upon 
us,  and  bore  us  straight  away  to  Dimitri's 
Hospice.  Dimitri,  a  portly  Greek,  and  likewise 
a  monopolist  in  the  landlord  line,  received  us 
at  the  needle's  eye  of  his  ancient  and  stately 
house.  It  was  as  yet  too  early  for  the  great 
gates  to  be  swung  open,  giving  free  access  to 
the  fountained  and  columned  court,  so  a 
hinged  panel  in  one  of  the  gates  was  unlocked 
for  us;  we  stepped  high  and  bowed  low,  and 
thus  passed  through  the  eye  of  the  needle — 
than  which  it  were  easier  for  a  camel  to  follow 
our  lead  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

The  kingdom  of  Dimitri's  paradise  is  four- 
sided  and  two-storied.  The  quadrangle  is  all  a 
glare  of  white  marble,  often  enough  glistening 
with  the  spray  of  overflowing  fountains.  The 
citron,  the  orange,  and  the  lemon  seek  to  veil 


194    A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

somewhat  the  dazzling  court,  but  the  golden 
globes  that  cluster  thickly  in  the  fine  dark 
shadows  of  the  leaves  are  themselves  but  so 
many  balls  of  fire.  Dimitri's  was  originally 
the  palace  of  a  wealthy  Damascene,  and  it  is 
not  a  bad  specimen  of  native  architecture. 

The  reception-room,  with  a  single  door,  is 
divided  in  three — that  is,  to  right  and  left  are 
floors  raised  a  couple  of  feet  above  the  central 
third  portion,  and  these  are  approached  by 
steps ;  the  middle  third  is  level  with  the  court 
from  which  it  is  entered,  and  is  richly  tiled, 
and  ornamented  with  a  sparkling  fountain; 
splendid  and  very  lofty  ceilings  give  dignity  to 
an  apartment  that  is  but  scantily  furnished. 
Persian  rugs  are  strewn  about  carelessly  and 
profusely;  a  few  chairs,  ottomans,  and  a  low 
divan  on  two  sides  of  the  room  invite  the 
weary  to  repose.  Here  the  guest  unwinds  his 
nargileh,  and  mocks  the  murmurs  of  the  foun- 
tain with  long  draughts  at  his  bubbling  pipe ; 
while  at  a  clap  of  the  hands  swarthy,  turbaned 
servants  appear  noiselessly  at  the  doorway,  and 
are  eager  to  proffer,  on  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion, delicious  sherbet,  or  a  mouthful  of  the 
unrivaled  coffee  of  the  East  in  the  most  dimin- 
utive of  cups. 

The  finer  houses  of  Damascus  are  inhabited 
by  Jews,  and  they  are  too  often  examples  of 
shocking  taste;  the  lavish  decoration  reminds 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     195 


one  of  the  ornamental  plaster  of  which  the 
saloon  cabin  of  an  American  river-steamer  is 
constructed;  but  while  in  the  one  case  it  is 
plaster  and  paint,  in  the  other  it  is  rare 
marble  and  fine  gold. 

One  day,  exploring  the  Jewish  quarter, 
under  the  guidance  of  a  young  Hebrew 
of  distinction,  we  were  shown  through 
stately  courts,  musical  with  fountains,  and 
dusky  with   the  shade  of  vines  and 


A   CAFE   IN   DAMASCUS. 


196      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

shrubs.  Nearly  always  on  one  side  of  the 
court  there  is  a  three-walled  chamber — the 
fourth  side  is  open  to  the  court — where  deep 
divans,  heaped  high  with  cushions,  beguile 
the  languid  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  From 
this  alcove  you  enter  the  stately  hall  of  the 
house.  It  is  shown  by  the  host  and  hos- 
tess with  ingenuous  eagerness;  one  might 
almost  imagine  that  the  elaborately  carved  and 
magnificently  upholstered  furniture  were  on 
sale,  and  the  hosts,  perhaps,  looking  toward  a 
bargain.  Various  members  of  the  family 
gather,  and  regard  you  curiously  as  you  taste 
of  the  always  proffered  coffee  and  sweetmeats. 
A  little  conversation  is  attempted  in  Italian, 
but,  as  Arabic  is  the  language  of  the  people, 
they  seldom  speak  any  other. 

In  nearly  every  Jewish  house  of  any  magni- 
tude there  is  a  private  synagogue,  and  in  one 
of  these  synagogues  we  were  shown  a  splen- 
didly illuminated  manuscript  copy  of  the  Old 
Testament,  done  in  Bagdad  five  hundred  years 
ago — an  almost  interminable  parchment  coiled 
upon  a  massive  silver  cylinder,  and  enclosed  in 
a  precious  casket  studded  with  gems. 

As  we  wandered  about  these  marvelous  old 
palaces  we  were  followed  by  troops  of  women 
and  girls,  mounted  on  wooden  pattens  twelve 
or  fourteen  inches  in  height.  Some  of  these 
pattens  were  beautifully  inlaid  with  pearl  and 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       197 

gold,  and  they  are  worn  continually  to  protect 
the  feet  from  the  cold  marble  pavements  and 
the  dampness  in  the  courts  of  the  fountains. 
The  faces  of  the  women  were  painted  so 
gaudily  that  one  could  hardly  believe  they 
imagined  they  had  heightened  their  beauty; 
their  dresses  were  showy  and  tasteless,  and 
their  manners  so  simple  that  they  seemed  to 
us  little  short  of  silly. 

The  young  men  were,  for  the  most  part, 
strikingly  intelligent,  handsome  and  agreeable. 
The  Jewish  lads  are  expected  to  marry  in  their 
eighteenth  year,  and  consequently  the  thrice 
venerable  city  is  filled  with  absurdly  youthful 
couples,  who  are  lodged  in  conspicuous 
palaces,  in  the  midst  of  Oriental  gardens, 
where  their  lives  are  sujffered  to  pass  like  a 
dream,  in  voluptuous  indolence. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  delectable  mansions  of 
Damascus,  somewhat  fallen  to  decay,  that  I 
met  the  defeated  lion  of  his  tribe,  Abd-el- 
Kader.  As  we  entered  the  outer  court  —  a 
very  dismal  one — two  servants  greeted  us 
formally,  and  led  the  way  to  the  court  of  the 
fountains.  Here  we  were  received  by  a 
slender,  solemn-visaged  dignitary,  who  ex- 
tended to  us  the  right  hand  of  fellowship — a 
welcome  unlooked  for  in  the  East,  where  a  mere 
touch  of  the  finger-tips  is  considered  sufficient 
evidence  of  cordiality,  even  among  friends. 


198      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


This  was  El  -  Hadji  -  Abd  -  el  -  Kader  -  Ulid- 
Mahiddin,  descendant  of  a  Marabout  family  of 
the  race  of  Hashem,  who  trace  their  pedigree 

Ito  the  caliphs  of  the  lineage  of  Fatima.     It 
was  he  who  in  his  eighth  year  made  a  pil- 
V"»V7?  •  "c^"  ^v    gfrimage   to  Mecca;  who,  with  a 
••>*''*  •''^•''   ""^  —    highly  -  cultivated 

mind,  was  free   from 
savage  cruelty,  as  well 
as  the  sensuality  of  the 
Arab;    who   was   gentle 
k(f\('^  and  pure ;  a  religious  en- 
thusiast, prone  to  melan- 
choly;  who  won  the  aflEec- 
tion,    the    admiration,    the 
devotion    of   the    fanatical 
tribes  of  the  desert,  and  for 
some  years  was  the  life  and 
the  light  of  the  Arabs ;  who 
was  greater  in  his  time  than 
El  Madi  of  yesterday,  but  who 
was  at    last  taken  captive  by 
the  French,  held  a 
prisoner  in  France, 
yet  ultimately  per- 
mitted to  retire  to 
Damascus,     where 
his    career   was 
brought  to  a  quiet 
close     among    the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       199 

wise  men  of  the  East,  who  paid  him  homage 
so  long  as  he  dwelt  in  their  midst. 

It  was  a  deposed  Emir  who  gave  us  welcome ; 
a  devout  student  of  the  Persian  Poets;  the 
author  of  a  religious  work,  a  translation  of 
which  was  published  in  Paris  (1858)  under  the 
title,  ''Rappel  d.  /'  Intelligent:  Avisa  /'  Indiffer- 
ent.'' He  waved  us  forward;  crossing  the 
court,  littered  with  leaves  and  having  a  forlorn 
and  unkept  look,  we  passed  into  the  reception- 
room.  It  showed  traces  of  former  splendor ;  a 
fountain,  the  basin  inlaid  with  marble  and 
mother-of-pearl,  played  in  the  centre  of  the 
room ;  the  floor  was  a  rich  mosaic ;  the  walls  of 
marble,  with  panels  of  mother-of-pearl;  the 
ceiling  set  thick  with  mirrors  of  various  sizes 
and  shapes ;  niches  in  the  wall  were  all  gilded, 
and  all  empty  save  one,  where  stood  a  slender 
vase,  holding  a  large  damask  rose  in  full 
bloom.  The  furniture,  placed  in  a  row  against 
the  wall,  was  modem,  conventional  in  pattern, 
and  covered  with  blue  chintz. 

Here  we  seated  ourselves  with  the  inter- 
preter. The  Emir  looked  curiously  at  us.  His 
was  a  very  serious  face ;  his  beard,  dyed  raven- 
black,  was  worn  in  the  prevailing  mode — 
pointed  and  rather  long ;  his  hands  were  well 
formed,  his  finger  nails  neatly  trimmed,  and 
stained  with  henna;  his  bare  feet  were  thrust 
into  the  loose,  yellow  overshoes,  such  as  are 


200      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

put  off  at  the  mosque  door.  He  was  clad  in 
a  lemon-colored  sack,  with  the  customary  nar- 
row brown  stripe,  which  fell  to  his  ankles; 
over  this  was  a  loose  blue  outer  robe,  lined  with 
light  blue  silk,  and  having  an  inner  sleeve  of 
purple.  A  large,  white  turban,  embroidered 
with  threads  of  pale  gold,  encircled  his  scarlet 
tarboosh. 

The  visit  was  evidently  a  bore  to  him — ^how 
could  it  have  been  otherwise?  Yet  he  endured 
it  with  Oriental  resigTiation.  He  played  with 
a  soft  white  handkerchief  embroidered  in 
colors,  drawing  it  through  his  fingers  over  and 
over  again ;  he  made  a  round  fluffy  ball  of  it ; 
spread  it  out  carefully  upon  his  knees,  and 
then  caught  it  up,  blew  his  nose  loudly,  and 
spat  into  it ;  he  cracked  his  knuckles,  inquired 
what  part  of  the  world  we  were  from,  and 
seemed  informed  upon  the  affairs  of  the  sev- 
eral governments.  But  his  reign  was  over; 
like  the  caged  eagle,  he  affected  an  indifference 
which,  perhaps,  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

Orange  water  thickened  with  snow  was 
served  soon  after  our  arrival,  and  a  tiny  cup  of 
coffee  on  our  departure;  but  the  host  apolo- 
gized for  the  non-appearance  of  the  customary 
pipe.  It  was  a  day  of  abstinence;  for  thirty 
days  of  the  Mohammedan  fast  he  remained  in  a 
small  chamber,  in  utter  solitude,  drinking  little, 
eating  less,  and  smoking  not  at  all.     It  was  by 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      201 


the  greatest  favor  that  we  saw  him  at  all,  and 
I  was  more  than  delighted  when,  at  my 
request,  he  sent  a 
dumb  attendant 
for  his  inkhorn, 
and,  while  he  held 
a  slip  of  paper 
upon  the  palm  of 
his  left  hand,  he 
took  a  delicate 
brush,  and,  with 
the  freedom  and 
grace  of  an 
artist,  wrote  "^^ 
an  autograph  ^ 
in  arabesque,  ^ 
the  very  ^'^ 
s  i  gh  t  o  f 
which  is 
a  joy  to 
the  eye. 
H  e  shook 
hands 
thrice  at 
parting,  fol- 
lowing u  s 
to  the  outer  i 
gates, 
where 
six  serv- 


THE   STREET   CALLED   STRAIT 


202      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT, 

ants  bowed  us  a  formal  farewell,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  conduct  their  venerable  and  venerated 
master,  tottering  beyond  his  three-score-and- 
ten,  back  into  the  privacy  of  his  prophet- 
chamber. 

As  we  rode  one  afternoon  through  the  gar- 
dens of  the  city,  in  a  lovely  path  that  picked 
its  way  among  the  rushing  streams,  a  solemn 
horseman  approached  us.  The  apparition  was 
at  first  startling ;  for  the  rider,  clad  in  a  long 
cloak  of  white  merino  that  veiled  him  from 
head  to  foot,  seemed  an  image  of  death,  albeit 
his  steed  was  superbly  caparisoned,  and  his 
face — as  much  of  it  as  was  visible — was  the 
type  of  Oriental  youth:  proud,  placid, 
sensuous.  He  was  followed  at  a  little  distance 
by  a  train  of  venerable  men,  each  one  mounted 
like  a  prince  in  a  fairy  tale,  and  all  grave  and 
grizzled.  The  singular  procession  passed 
slowly  onward,  under  the  trees,  at  sunset, 
toward  the  city  gates ;  and  we  learned,  as  the 
caravan  silently  disappeared  in  the  greenwood, 
like  a  ghostly  company  in  a  story  of  enchant- 
ment, that  he  who  led  the  band  was  the  son  of 
Abd-el-Kader,  and  that  his  followers  were  the 
sages  and  philosophers  of  Damascus,  who  had 
been  passing  the  day  with  him  at  his  stunmer 
palace  in  the  wood. 

Only  such  picturesque  riders  as  these  were 
worthy  to  possess  those  romantic  bridle-paths ; 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     203 

and,  somehow,  as  I  rode  down  the  narrow  and 
winding  ways  that  are  forever  losing  them- 
selves among  the  meadows  that  girdle  the 
city,  listening  always  to  the  gurgle  of  gushing 
waters,  pausing  sometimes  beside  full-throated 
fountains,  or  under  boughs  where  the  sun 
spins  his  web  of  gold;  standing  knee-deep 
in  wild,  rich  grass,  or  buried  up  to  my  eyes  in 
fragrant  and  flowering  jungles,  I  had  always 
in  mind,  as  the  most  fitting  thought  in  this 
garden  of  glories — indeed  the  garden  became  a 
kind  of  illuminated  edition  of  the  text — some 
perfect  page  of  "Eothen." 

After  more  than  thirty  years  of  active  serv- 
ice, during  which  time  Messrs.  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Harry,  the  reverent  and  the  irreverent, 
male  and  female,  wise  and  otherwise,  have  had 
their  say  in  print  or  out  of  it — and  I  among  the 
number, — "Eothen"  is  still  the  one  royal  and 
unrivaled  volume  of  the  East.  Poet  and 
prophet,  the  author  of  "Eothen"  is  to-day  as 
fresh,  as  fair,  as  faultless  as  at  the  hour  when, 
radiant  with  the  classic  glow  of  the  University, 
young  Kinglake  astonished  and  delighted  the 
world  with  his  revelation;  for  he  seemed  to 
have  plucked  out  the  heart  of  the  mysterious 
East,  and  for  the  first  time  to  have  laid  it  bare 
to  the  eye  of  the  unbeliever. 

I  know  not  what  magic  lay  in  his  pen,  or  if 
the  necromancy  of  the  East  conferred  upon  his 


204     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


work  a  life  immortal ;  but  I  do  know  from  per- 
sonal experience  that,  with  my  pocket  copy  of 
"Eothen"  {Tauchnitz  edition,  to  be  had  at 
any  shop  in  Islamdom),  with  my  unbound 
book  —  a  mere  bundle  of  loose  leaves  —  in 
my  hand,  and  my  finger  upon  the  very  line,  I 
have  again  and  again  tested  its  marvelous 
truthfulness  to  nature  and  to  art;  and  you 
who  know  the  volume  need  not  be  reminded  of 
its  perennial  beauty. 

From  a  lattice!      Sitting  in  my  window  at 
Dimitri's  —  a    window    overhanging   the 
a  huge  birdcage,   and  with 
broad    green    blinds    propped  out    in 
front  of  it,   after  the  fashion  of  Al- 
ine eaves — I  am  lost  in  contem- 
plation of  the  street  travel  and 
traffic,  and  again  and  again  re- 
call the  delightful  pages  of 
the  Arabian  Nights. 

Every    figure  that 
passes    is    the    living 
image  of  some  hero 
heroine  in  those 
immortal   tales : 
— the  fine  an- 
i  m  a  1  s ,   thor- 
oughbred 
Arabian,    in- 
deed  worthy 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      205 


to  be  called  steeds;  the  gorgeous  trappings, 
crusted  with  embroideries  done  in  gold  or  silver 
thread,  that  cover  the  high-stepping  mares,  and 
trail  their  rich  fringes  nearly  to  the  g^round ;  the 
shapeless  bundles  of  bright-colored  silks  and 
satins,  with  a  woman  at  the  core  of  them, — a 
woman  whose  dark  eyes  dart  a  scornful  glance 
at  the  Christian,  as  she  jogs  by  on  her  diminu- 
tive donkey ;  the  troops  of  donkeys,  with  their 
bare-legged  boy-master  cudgeling  them  brave- 
ly, as  they  hang  upon  the  flying  heels  in 
breathless  pursuit;  the  camels,  that  eye  me 
contemptuously  as  they  stalk  by,  with  their 
humps  as  high  as  my  first-floor  window,  their 
flabby  lips  pursing  within  reach  of  my  hand, 
and  their  clumsy  burdens  fairly  brushing  my 
sleeve  as  I  lean  from  the  lattice  at  Dimitri's. 

Is  it  not  like  an  Arabian  tale? 
The  little  hunchback,  the  por- 
ter, the  royal  calendars,  and 
the  ladies  of  Bagdad ;  the 
barber  and  his  six  broth- 
ers,   the    sleeper   awak- 
ened, the  poor  blind  man, 
the  slave  of  love,  the  en- 
chanted horse — yea,  even 
the   forty  thieves — all,    all 
are  here  visible  to  the  naked 
eye,  and  making  that  wondrous 
book  of  Eastern  romance 


14 


2o6     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

like  a  reality.  Who  knows  but  somewhere  in 
the  bewildering  throng  beneath  my  window  the 
young  King  of  the  Black  Isles  may  be  mas- 
querading? Or  that  the  beautiful  one  who 
just  passed  was  a  Princess  of  Cathay?  Perhaps 
the  Caliph  Haroun-al-Raschid  may  not  be  far 
distant.  You  will  remember  his  love  of 
adventure;  and  are  not  all  those  fairy-people 
of  Arabia  immortal? 

From  my  window,  looking  up  a  street 
directly  in  front  of  me,  and  down 
another  street  which  crosses  it  at  right 
angles  —  the  street  our  hospice 
borders  on,  —  and  looking  only 
about  fifty  paces  in  each  direc- 
tion, I  have  counted  twenty-seven 
dogs  lying  asleep  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,  and  likewise  the  mid- 
dle of  the  way.  These  are  the  pariah  dogs  of  the 
Orient,  and  I  believe  there  are  more  of  them 
in  Damascus  than  in  any  other  city  of  the  East. 
Camels  and  horses  step  over  them;  donkeys 
turn  out  for  them ;  men  ignore  them ;  children 
kick  them,  beat  them  with  sticks,  and  throw 
missiles  at  them ;  but  the  poor  curs  only  raise 
their  heads,  give  a  yelp  of  pain,  and  drop  off  to 
sleep  again. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  are  no 
pavements  in  Oriental  cities;  that  man  and 
beast  share  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  that 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     207 


the  pedestrian  is  in  constant  danger  of  being 
run  down  by  some  animal  or  vehicle.  Yet 
these  dogs  sleep  calmly  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  thoroughfare;  and  they  sleep  most  of  the 
day — no  wonder :  they  sit  tip  all  night  to  bark. 

Of  the  numberless  canines  that  came  under 
my  notice  in  the  Orient,  I  do  not  remember 
having  seen  one  without  blemish;  they  are 
bald  in  spots,  weak-jointed,  blear-eyed,  mangy, 
miserable  creatures.  No  one  owns  them,  no 
one  cares  for  them ;  they  live  upon  the  offal 
that  is  heaped  in  the  streets  after  dark,  and 
each  must  fight  for  his  share  of  it.  Every  dog 
has  his  district  as  well  as  his  day;  he  may 
travel  up  and  down  certain  streets  and  lanes, 
known  well  enough  to  himself  and  his 
enemies ;  he  may  toe  the  border- 
line of  his  beat,  and  make  mouths 
at  the  dogs  over  the  way ;  he  may 
say  as  many  saucy  and  wicked 
things  as  he  chooses,  so  long  as 
he  remains  on  his  own  ground; 
but  let  him  venture  a  yard  be- 
yond it,  and  a  score  of  vengeful 
canines  will  fall  upon  him,  and 
rend  him  limb  from  limb. 

I  have  seen  a  sickly  and  fever- 
ish cur  steal  noiselessly  into  the 
enemy's  camp,  to  slake  his  thirst 
at  a  neighboring  fountain.     While 


2o8    A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


the  poor  wretch  was  drinking — I  wonder  how 
he  could  swallow  with  his  tail  curled  down  so 
tightly! — ^while  he  lapped  greedily  and  fear- 
fully, his  presence  was  discovered,  and  he  was 
at  once  surrounded.  A  hop-skip-and-jump 
would  have  brought  him  to  his  native  heath, 
and  then  it  would  have  been  his  turn  to 
bark;  but  he  was  seized  at  once  by 
a  dozen  cowardly  brutes,  that 
'j\^BBI  dragged  him  hither  and 

thither,  and  would        ^^^^"^     have 
devoured  ^<:^^^^        '^vai  alive, 

but  that  his 
piercing  cries  and 
the  general  hubbub  brought 
down  his  tribe  to  the  rescue. 
He  was  saved,  poor  fellow, 
and  limped  home  in  the  pitch 
/  'HI'  '  '"^  V  ^^  battle,  unobserved  by  the 
infuriated  enemy ;  but  his  ears 
were  torn  to  shreds,  and  he  was 
so  full  of  holes  that  had  he  fallen 
into  the  fountain  which  brought  him  so  little 
refreshment,  he  would  have  filled  and  sunk 
inside  of  ten  seconds. 

It  is  not  safe  to  venture  forth  after  dark 
without  one  of  the  long  paper  lanterns,  which 
every  one  carries — looking  like  an  illuminated 
concertina  standing  on  end — to  light  your 
steps.     Indeed,  there  is  a  law  compelling  all 


1 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     209 


pedestrians  to  keep  their  lamps  trimmed  and 
burning;  hence,  also,  the  Scriptural  figure: 
"Thy  word  is  a  lamp  unto  my  feet,  and  a  light 
unto  my  path.  * ' 

A  story  is  told  of  a  foolish  virgin,  or  a  tramp, 
possibly,  who  ventured  forth  alone  in  the  dark 
streets  without  his  lantern;  his  stumbling 
steps  were  heard,  the  alarm  was  sounded,  and 
in  three  minutes  he  was  ten  feet  deep  in  dogs. 
When  the  day  broke,  and  the  row  was  over, 
there  was  nothing  left  to  tell  the  tale  but  a 
pair  of  indigestible  boots. 

The  cry  of  these  outcasts  is  terrific,  but  it  is 
incessant ;  and  therefore  in  the  course  of  time 
the  ear  becomes  accustomed  to  the  horrible 
discord,  and  it  is  scarcely  noticed. 
Can  you  not  see  the  contempt 
concentrated  in  the  favorite 
Mohammedan  epithet,  too 
often  hurled  at  our  de- 
voted heads,  "Dog  of  a 
Christian"? 

The  bazaars  of  Da- 
mascus    are     extolled 
above    those    of   Cairo 
and  Constantinople ;  but 
the  bazaar  in  itself,  let  it 
be  where  it  may,  so  long 
as  it  is  sheltered  from   the 
glare  of  the  sun,  and  sweet- 


2IO      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


ened  with  the  perfumes  of  Arabia,  is  far  too 
charming  a  resort  ever  to  lose  much  by  com- 
parison. 

The  Damascus  streets,  narrow  and  ill-paved 
— the  receptacles  of  every 
species  of  domestic  filth 
— are  often  covered  with 
steep  roofs  of  loosely  laid 
boards  or  dried  palm 
boughs,  through  which  the 
strong  sunlight  sifts  its 
powdered  gold.  In  this 
semi-obscurity,  jostled 
continually  by  the  stream- 
ing crowd  that  surges  to 
and  fro,  all  the  senses  are 
steeped  in  the  fullness  of 
that  luxurious  Eastern 
life,  which  in  Damascus 
alone  seems  as  yet  to  have 
suffered  no  noticeable  de- 
cay. 

It  was  in  Damascus,  the 
largest  city  of  Syria,  con- 
taining 110,000  souls,  of 
whom  90,000  are  Moham- 
medans, that  the  latter 
fell  upon  the  Christians  in 
1866,  and  slew  them  in 
the  streets,  in  their  own 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      211 

houses,  and  even  on  the  very  steps  of  the  altar, 
whither  they  had  fled  for  safety.  For  days  the 
streets  ran  blood;  the  bodies  of  6,000  Chris- 
tian citizens  were  left  where  they  fell.  The 
dogs  fed  on  them ;  the  birds  came  in  from  the 
desert  to  join  the  feast.  The  persecuted  Chris- 
tians were  unable  to  bury  their  dead ;  for  no 
sooner  had  the  living  stolen  from  their  hiding- 
places  than  they  were  slaughtered  by  the 
bloodthirsty  and  unrelenting  Mussulmans. 

It  is  due  to  the  memory  of  Abd-el-Kader  to 
say  here  that  all  his  influence  was  exerted  in 
behalf  of  the  Christians,  and  that  he  was  ever 
most  charitably  disposed;  but  the  massacre 
was  not  checked  until  15,000  Christians  had 
fallen  a  prey  to  Mohammedan  fanaticism. 

You  are  apt  to  think  of  this  as  you  lounge  in 
the  bazaars  of  Damascus,  and  hear  from  time 
to  time  some  bitter  imprecation  hissed  at  you 
under  the  breath;  and,  yet,  so  bewildering  is 
the  spectacle  that  surrounds  you,  that  fear  is 
lost  in  admiration,  and  you  venture  onward, 
filled  with  childlike  wonderment.  You  enter 
the  saddle-market,  where  there  are  heaps  of 
huge  pillows,  gold  embroidered  and  with 
fringes  a  foot  deep.  These  are  Oriental  sad- 
dles, and  they  make  a  very  broad,  very  flat, 
and  very  comfortable  seat  atop  of  the  wee 
Egyptian  donkeys.  There  are  straps,  girths, 
bridles,  sharp   Arabian   bits,  clumsy  stirrups 


212     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

that  hide  the  whole  foot,  holsters,  and  gew- 
gaws without  end,  all  glittering  and  jingling 
— such  dazzling  paraphernalia  as  is  the  pride  of 
the  circus  ring-master,  and  the  delight  of  the 
applauding  populace;  yet  these  are  for  the 
daily  use  of  the  picturesque  Damascenes. 

Farther  on,  the  copper-smiths  beat  noisily  at 
their  anvils,  and  display  huge  platters  that 
might  almost  hold  a  barbecued  ox.  The 
bazaar  of  the  second-hand  clothier  is  called 
Luk  -  el  -  Kumeleh — literally  the  louse-market. 
There  is  something  startling  in  the  naked 
truths  that  occasionally  surprise  the  tongues  of 
these  Levantine  euphemists.  The  Greek 
Bazaar  is  more  general ;  in  it  one  sees  almost 
anything  from  food  and  raiment  to  the  far- 
famed  Damascus  blades ;  but  the  latter  article 
has  lost  both  its  edge  and  its  temper  in  these 
degenerate  days. 

Afterward,  elbow  to  elbow,  a  double  line  of 
booths  stretches  away  into  the  shadowy  dis- 
tance, where  the  twilight  of  the  place  dims  the 
brilliant  costumes  of  the  loungers.  It  is  the 
bazaar  of  the  pipe-sellers.  Here  there  are 
pipes  of  cocoanut  shells  and  ostrich  eggs 
mounted  in  gold  and  silver,  and  having  stems 
a  fathom  long,  with  immense  globes  of  amber 
for  mouth-pieces.  Then  there  are  the  drapers 
with  fabrics  rainbow  dyed;  camel's-hair  cloaks 
— web-like    tissues    with    gossamer    blossoms 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      213 

floating  through  them  as  lightly  as  the  down  of 
the  dandelion.  And  the  booksellers,  with 
their  precious  tomes  filled  with  ancient  and 
Eastern  lore ;  lyrics  of  Persian  poets,  engrossed 
on  dainty  rolls  of  ivory-smooth  parchment,  tied 
with  a  thread  of  gold;  and  there  are  sealed 
volumes  of  mag^c  and   mystery.      It   is  said 


214     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

that  these  proud  booksellers  sometimes  refuse 
the  money  of  a  Christian  customer. 

In  the  silk  bazaar  one  sees  embroideries 
from  the  Lebanon;  dainty  pouches  for  the 
curled  shavings  of  the  fragrant  tobacco ;  slip- 
pers, millions  and  millions  of  them — a  whole 
parish  filled  with  nothing  but  scarlet  and 
lemon  -  colored  slippers.  Then  there  are 
draperies  from  Bagdad,  flowered  cottons  from 
Birmingham,  filmy  veils  from  Switzerland, 
embroidered  window-hangings  and  table-covers 
from  the  south  of  France,  and  fezes — such  as 
every  one  wears  in  the  Orient, — all  made  in  the 
factories  of  Vienna.  Perhaps  it  is  not  gener- 
ally known  that  many  of  the  so-called  Oriental 
fabrics  are  manufactured  in  Europe  and 
shipped  to  the  bazaars  of  Cairo,  Damascus,  and 
Stamboul.  Genuine  Oriental  wares,  of  all 
descriptions,  are  growing  scarcer  every  year. 

At  the  baker-shops  and  the  little  caf^s  that 
are  sprinkled  through  the  bazaars  one  sees 
the  thin  cakes  of  flour  pasted  against  the  slop- 
ing sides  of  small,  portable  ovens,  ready  to  be 
eaten  hot  at  all  hours.  The  baker's  boy  cries; 
Ya  rezzak! — "O  giver  of  sustenance!"  A 
sweetish  loaf,  sopped  in  grape  sirup,  and 
sprinkled  with  sesame,  is  offered  for  sale,  with 
the  cry:  "Food  for  swallows!"  Young 
maidens  are  specially  fond  of  this  dish.  When 
water-cresses    are    sold,    the    vender    shouts: 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      2 15 

•'Tender  cresses  from  the  spring  of  Ed- 
Deriyeh.  If  an  old  woman  eats  them  she  is 
young  again  next  morning."  And  the  lad 
who  hawks  bouquets  sings  out  significantly: 
*'0  young  husband,  appease  your  mother-in- 
law!" 

The  bazaar  of  the  joiners  is  noisy  with  the 
saw,  the  file,  and  the  hammer.  Here  the 
workers  in  perfumed  wood,  and  those  who 
inlay  mother-of-pearl,  make  the  high,  stilt-like 
pattens,  the  small  tables,  the  mirror-frames, 
and  the  clumsy  but  ornamental  furniture  which 
the  Damascenes  delight  in.  The  goldsmiths 
beat  their  gold  into  rude  armlets,  and  make 
the  tiny  and  delicate  filagree  stands  for  the 
fragile  coffee-cups  we  are  continually  handling. 

The  great  Khan  of  Asad  Pasha  is  forever 
associated  with  the  bazaars  of  Damascus,  and 
is  just  the  spot  to  rest  in  after  one  has 
exhausted  himself  with  sight-seeing.  It  is  by 
far  the  most  interesting  of  all  the  khans;  is 
built  of  black  and  yellow  stone,  the  alternate 
layers  striping  the  walls  to  the  top.  Imagine 
a  very  large  and  very  lofty  hall,  square,  with 
four  tall  columns  in  the  centre  supporting  a 
dome;  the  central  dome  surrounded  by  eight 
others  of  equal  size,  and  all  of  them  perforated 
with  starlike  windows,  through  which  the  sun- 
light slants  its  dusty  rays.  There  is  a  fountain 
between  the  central  columns.     Two  galleries 


surround  the  building,  and 
afford  shelter  for  foreign 
merchants,  who  come  to 
Damascus  to  purchase  or 
dispose  of  wares.  These, 
with  their  retainers,  camp 
along  the  walls  in  the  galleries,  and,  having 
turned  their  camels  and  asses  loose  about  the 
fountain,  gather  their  legs  under  them  among 
the  cushions  of  the  divans,  and  smoke  or  chat 
or  pray,  or  listen  to  the  wandering  minstrels 
and  story-tellers,  who  often  stray  into  the  khan 
to  charm  the  merchants  with  their  romanzas 
and  romances.  I  observed  that  all  business 
was  usually  suspended  until  the  climax  of  the 
tale  was  reached,  or  the  singer  had  sung  out 
his  song. 

There  is  a  kind  of  magnetism  in  the  stuffs 
heaped  about  in  broken  bales,  that  is  sure  to 
drain  your  pocket  sooner  or  later.  I  wonder 
if   old   Abou  Antika,   who   throws   wide   his 

2X6 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      217 

doors,  stirs  his  snow-chilled  sherbet,  and  lays 
fire  to  his  best  pipes  when  the  distinguished 
foreigner  is  announced — I  wonder  if  he  has  no 
compunctions  of  conscience  when  he  closes  a 
bargain,  and  knows  that  he  has  defrauded  his 
customer  thrice  over? 

In  Abou's  bazaar  you  recline  upon  Persian 
rugs  of  downy  and  silken  softness,  while  about 
you  are  heaped  the  spoils  of  empires — not  the 
sort  of  empires  that  poke  one  another  in  the 
ribs  with  wordy  documents,  and  divert  one 
another  with  the  exchange  of  pompous  tele- 
grams; but  the  empires  that  sleep  the  sleep 
of  the  lotos-eaters,  and  dream  dreams  of  an 
earthly  paradise,  until  they  awaken  from  this 
peaceful  dream  to  war;  then,  like  a  tempest- 
tossed  sea,  they  overflow  their  borders, 
carrying  death  and  destruction  with  them. 
Something  of  the  wreck  that  follows  has  been 
gathered  and  stored  in  this  treasure-house — a 
splendid  and  barbaric  confusion  of  jewel-hilted 
weapons,  and  of  all  the  shapely  or  shapeless 
bric-a-brac  that  for  centuries  have  been  in  the 
jealous  keeping  of  pagan  hands.  How  a  man's 
heart  leaps  at  the  first  sight  of  these  covetable 
keepsakes,  lying  like  rubbish  heaps  about  the 
bazaar  of  this  miserly  Mussulman ;  how  his 
portemonnaie  shrivels  up  beneath  the  simoon 
breath  of  the  final  and  fatal  bargain!  Abou 
Antika  is  a  temptation  and  a  snare.      Away 


2i8     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

with  such  a  fellow  as  he !  Mashallah — I  have 
said  it ! 

If  we  may  believe  Josephus,  then  Damascus 
was  founded  by  Uz,  the  son  of  Aram  and 
grandson  of  Shem.  Abraham's  steward  was  a 
native  of  the  place,  as  is  recorded  in  the  Book 
of  Genesis.  Nothing  more  is  known  of 
Damascus,  until  the  time  of  David,  when  "the 
Syrians  of  Damascus  came  to  succor  Hada- 
dezer.  King  of  Zobah, '  *  with  whom  David  was 
at  war.  On  this  occasion  "David  slew  of  the 
Syrians  22,000  men,"  and  in  consequence  of 
his  victory  became  complete  master  of  the 
territory,  which  he  garrisoned  with  Israelites. 
From  that  time  through  several  centuries,  the 
city  was  taken  and  retaken  at  intervals,  for- 
tune alternately  favoring  the  Syrians,  the 
Israelites,  or  Judeans. 

Damascus  has  ever  been  a  great  centre  of 
trade.  Strabo  says  it  was  the  most  famous 
place  in  Syria  during  the  Persian  period.  Its 
Gospel  history,  though  not  so  full  as  is  that  of 
the  Old  Testament,  is  yet  of  deep  interest  to 
Christian  readers.  One  is  still  shown  the 
window  in  the  wall  from  which  St.  Paul 
was  let  down  in  a  basket,  and  the  site 
of  his  miraculous  conversion,  —  though  this 
is  a  disputed  point.  Then  there  is  the 
house  of  Naaman  the  Syrian,  where  there 
are  a  few  indifferent  lepers;    and  the  house 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     219 


of  Ananias;  and  the  street  which  was  "called 
Strait." 

The  great  mosque  should  not  be  forgotten, 
though  a  sight  of  it  is  hardly  worth  the  hand- 
ful of  francs  and  the  trouble  it  takes  to  see  it. 
The  chief  interest  that  per- 
tains to  this  structure  is  the 
fact  that  when  the  mosque  was 
finished,  with  its  roof  of  fine 
gold,  from  which  were  sus- 
pended six  hundred  golden 
lamps,  while  the  prayer-niches 
were  set  • 
thick  with 
priceless 
gems,  the  ac- 
counts of  the 
various  arti- 
ficers were 

duly    pre-         ^'^^^    '^^ 
sented  on  the  backs!     *~ 
of    eighteen    well-' 
burdened    m  u  1  e  s.  \ 
Then  the    caliph, ' 
who  was  responsible  for  the 
payment  thereof,  had  them 
all  religiously  burned — and 
that  was  his  final  settlement. 
As  for  the  glorious  mosque, 
few    traces    of    its    ancient 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL. 


220     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

splendor  are  now  visible ;  in  brief,  it  is  a  disap- 
pointment; but  one  finds  consolation  in  the 
caf^s  of  Damascus,  and  healing  and  balm  for 
all  wounds.     Let  us  adjourn  thither. 

We  dined  at  sunset  in  a  Damascus  garden. 
The  first  call  to  prayer  rang  out  from  a  neigh- 
boring minaret  between  soup  and  fish.  We 
knew  the  voice  of  that  particular  muezzin. 
Five  times  every  four  and  twenty  hours  he 
climbed  into  his  high  gallery,  and  chanted  the 
''^Addn"  like  a  lark.  Poor  fellow!  In  com- 
mon with  the  majority  of  his  singular  and 
exclusive  tribe,  he  was  stone-blind.  With 
much  worldly  wisdom,  blind  men  are  usually 
appointed  to  the  semi-sacred  office;  because 
from  the  gallery  of  the  minaret  one  looks  over 
the  housetops  and  into  the  jealous  coiirt  of 
many  a  harem;  and  with  willful  eyes  the 
muezzin  might  direct  his  prayer  at  the  wrong 
angle  in  search  of  paradise. 

As  we  were  already  at  the  table,  we  could 
not  lift  up  our  hearts  until  the  meal  was  over ; 
no  Moslem  ever  is  expected  to ;  though  at  that 
moment  the  shrill,  sweet  voice  soared  in  the 
air,  crying:  "God  is  most  great;  I  testify 
that  there  is  no  deity  but  God ;  I  testify  that 
Mohammed  is  God's  apostle.  Come  to  prayer; 
come  to  security.  God  is  most  great ;  there  is 
no  deity  but  God!" 

We  finished  dining,  and  repaired  to  the  court 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      221 

of  the  hotel,  where  a  half-dozen  merchants 
were  inviting  custom,  with  their  wares  tempt- 
ingly displayed  upon  rich  rugs.  A  snake- 
charmer  offered  to  divert  us  with  a  sack  full  of 
reptiles;  a  wandering  poet,  with  his  lute, 
volunteered  a  song ;  swallows  swung  to  and  fro 
between  the  eaves  of  the  court;  the  fountain 
plashed  monotonously.  It  occurred  to  us  that 
the  amusements  of  Damascenes  were  lacking 
in  variety.  One  gets  tired  of  looking  at  rude 
armlets  of  beaten  silver  and  disks  of  yellow 
gold  embossed  with  verses  from  the  Koran. 
The  snake-charmers  are,  for  the  most  part, 
tiresome  and  tricky;  the  magicians,  clever 
but  avaricious;  the  poets,  pleasant  enough — 
one  sees  them  in  nearly  every  caf^ — which  re- 
minded us  that  the  evening  might  be  passed  in 
one  of  the  cafis  for  which  Damascus  is  famous. 
Once  more  the  muezzin  poured  out  his  voice 
upon  the  air.  The  twilight  had  fallen;  the 
afterglow  had  dissolved  into  the  deep  blue  that 
was  gathering  about  us,  with  the  great  stars 
scattered  through  it.  This  was  the  second  call 
to  prayer — a  repetition  of  the  first  just  after 
sunset.  I  could  think  of  nothing  as  I  listened 
to  the  pathetic  cry  but  of  those  caged  quails  in 
Capri,  whose  eyes  are  put  out  that  they  may 
pipe  the  more  pathetically,  and  with  wistful 
notes  entrap  their  fellows  hastening  over  the 
Tyrian  waves  to  Africa. 

15 


222     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

The  poet  promised  to  conduct  us  to  the  Caf6 
of  the  Thousand  Islands.  The  snake-charmer 
withdrew;  the  merchants  shut  up  shop  on  the 
instant.  With  long  paper  lanterns  we  groped 
through  the  ill-kept  streets;  droves  oi pariah 
dogs  snapped  at  our  heels,  but  the  lanterns 
were  our  salvation.  From  one  of  the  darkest  of 
the  streets  we  entered  a  dingy  hall.  It  was  not 
inviting;  it  contained  a  few  very  cheap  and 
not  over-clean  tables,  a  few  chairs,  a  few 
lanterns — too  few, — a  few  indolent  guests,  who 
seemed  to  have  lost  all  interest  in  life.  We 
hesitated  at  the  forbidding  threshold.  The 
poet  begged  us  to  enter,  hinting  that  as  death 
is  the  only  gate  to  the  seventh  heaven,  it  was 
possible  that  we  were  even  then  upon  the 
thorny  borders  of  the  gardens  of  delight.  We 
entered.  There  was  a  sound  of  rushing  waters. 
The  air  was  cooled  with  spray.  Above  the 
murmur  of  the  waters  we  heard  music  and  low 
laughter,  though  laughter  is  uncommon  with 
those  people.  We  heard  the  twang  of  the 
seven-stringed  'ood,  the  wail  of  the  rahab,  the 
singer's  viol  with  its  two  cords,  the  trill  of 
the  double-stemmed  arghool,  the  clang  of 
the  sagat^  the  jingle  of  the  tar^  the  throb  of 
the  dardbukkeh. 

We  passed  out  of  the  hall  into  a  parterre 
bordered  with  date-palms.  Drifts  of  cnowy 
jasmine  whitened  the  winding  paths.     Beyond 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      223 

US  was  a  grove  of  date-palms  and  mimosas, 
whose  boughs  were  filled  with  lanterns.  The 
music  ceased  for  a  moment;  there  was  no 
sound  but  the  babble  of  innumerable  streams, 
the  plash  of  innumerable  fountains,  and  the 
gurgle  of  rose-water  bubbling  in  the  tanks  of 
the  nargilehs. 

"Are  not  Abana  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Da- 
mascus, better  than  all  the  waters  of  Israel?" 
asked  Naaman  of  old.  Here  the  rivers  are 
broken  into  ten  thousand  rivulets,  that  wind 
in  and  out  among  gfrassy  islands,  making  music 
for  evermore. 

Rustic  bridges  spring  from  one  shore  to 
another.  You  may  make  the  tour  of  the 
Thousand  Islands  dry-shod.  You  may  wander 
from  bower  to  bower,  under  illuminated  cano- 
pies, and  find  at  last  the  seclusion  of  some 
kiosk,  where  pipe-bearers  attend  you,  and 
youthful  slaves  lift  to  your  lips  the  fragile 
sherbet-cups,  and  minstrels  and  dancers  await 
your  bidding. 

Our  cups  were  drained;  our  pipes  were 
filled;  we  rioted  at  the  feast  of  lanterns. 
Again  epicurean  music  filled  the  night;  we 
were  reclining  on  deep  divans.  On  either  hand 
kursees  (small  tables  inlaid  with  pearl,  tortoise- 
shell,  and  ivory)  were  placed  within  our  reach. 
The  coffee  steamed  upon  them.  An  attendant 
approached,  and  planted  a  flaming  mesh'aln&zx 


124     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

US — a  cresset  filled  with  burning  wood,  that 
gave  forth  a  delicious  odor.  A  lurid  glow 
flooded  the  pavilion. 

Did  we  dream,  or  was  it  a  houri  that  dazzled 
us  with  a  tiara  of  jingling  coins,  and  with  rows 
of  coins  upon  the  breast,  and  chains  upon  the 
arms,  and  girdles  upon  the  hips?  A  loose 
garment  flowed  from  the  throat  to  the  feet, 
confined  only  by  these  glittering  coins — a  for- 
tune in  themselves.  The  white  lace  mask  of 
the  Circassian  beauty  hid  the  lower  half  of  the 
ghdzeeyeh's  face.  The  uncovered  eyes  blazed 
from  their  dark  rims  of  kohl.  Between  her 
fingers  she  clasped  the  bronze  sagat.  Small 
silver  bells  tinkled  upon  her  anklets,  and 
from  a  necklace  was  suspended  a  gilded 
kurs,  that  hung  like  a  breastplate  upon  her 
bosom. 

When  she  danced  the  minstrels  played  more 
glibly.  Every  motion  of  her  body  inflamed 
their  hearts.  It  was  not  a  dance  as  we  know 
it — it  was  the  writhing  of  a  captive  serpent, 
whose  rising  gorge  sends  the  blood  plunging 
through  the  veins,  swells  every  muscle  in  the 
body,  and  makes  the  flesh  quiver  and  creep 
perceptibly.  Not  all  the  Ghawdze  of  the  East 
might  furnish  a  rival  to  this  little  creature; 
and  when  at  last  she  leaped  like  flame,  and 
fanned  the  air,  the  minstrels  shrieked  with  joy, 
and    threw   down   their   instruments   in    the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      225 

moment  when  she  sank  to  the  earth  in  raptur- 
ous exhaustion. 

We  were  silent  a  moment;  the  waters  still 
played  on  every  hand ;  the  lanterns  were  burn- 
ing low.  Here  was  a  Peri  in  a  terrestrial  para- 
dise ;  an  Odalisque  escaped  from  the  harem  of 
the  Sultan.  Soon  the  poet  led  us  away  into 
the  dark  lanes  of  the  city,  toward  Dimitri's 
hospital  house. 

The  late  moon  was  just  rising  and  flooding 
the  east  with  silver — or  was  it  daybreak? 
From  a  minaret  came  the  third  call  to  prayer — 
it  was  daybreak. 

Anon,  when  it  was  all  over,  with  the  Caf^  of 
the  Thousand  Islands,  and  the  feast  of  lan- 
terns, and  the  rioting  waters,  and  the  odors 
that  made  a  rose  garden  of  the  place,  such  as 
would  have  gladdened  the  heart  of  Saadi  or 
Hafiz, — when  even  the  poet  had  departed,  and 
the  city  was  still  as  death, — lo!  from  among 
the  stars  fell  that  marvelous  voice,  "God  is 
most  great ;  come  to  prayer ;  come  to  security. 
Prayer  is  better  than  sleep!"     But  we  slept. 


VII. 

FROM   BAALBEK  TO   BEIRUT. 

Half-way  between  Damascus  and  Beirut  is 
Shtora,  a  hospice  where  the  traveler  eats 
poorly  and  sleeps  not  at  all,  but  he  may  pay  as 
good  a  bill  here  as  in  any  port  under  the 
Eastern  sun.  At  Shtora  you  turn  suddenly 
and  decisively  to  the  right,  pass  through  a 
broad,  green  valley  between  two  ranges  of 
snow-capped  mountains,  and  ride  for  seven 
hours.  In  the  tail  end  of  the  seventh  hour, 
along  with  the  sunset,  you  fall  upon  the  flanks 
of  a  steppe  where  stand  the  magnificent  ruins 

of  old  Baalbek.     That  is  what  we  did,  M 

and  I,  in  company  with  a  dragoman,  who  was 
worth  his  weight  in  gold,  and  was  inclined  to 
speculate  on  his  market  value. 

We  chased  a  thunder-storm  down  that 
glorious  valley.  At  first  the  mulberry  trees 
sheltered  us,  but  we  rode  out  of  them  into  the 
meadows,  where  flocks  were  feeding,  and 
where  the  storm  trailed  its  crape-like  skirts  of 
rain.  Then  we  dashed  forward  in  the  track  of 
the  tempest.  Two  or  three  villages,  Moham- 
medan or  Maronite,  detained  us  not  a  moment ; 

for  the  air  was  so  charged  with  electricity  that 
226 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     227 


horse  and  rider  alike 
longed  for  the  wings  of 
the  wind.  By  and  by 
the  valley  spread  out 
before  us  like  a  prairie 
— a  prairie  turned  up  at 
the  sides;  and  there 
was  nothing  in  all  the 
landscape  to  fix  the  eye 
upon  and  rest  it  for  a 
moment. 

Then  the  storm  sud- 
denly turned  on  us,  and 
spat   great,  cold   rain- 
drops in  our  faces,  and 
the  wind  drove  us  back 
on   our  haunches,   and 
we    had    fifteen  awful 
minutes  of  struggle  and?^ 
suspense   that  brought 
us  to   the    edge    of    a 
shallow  ravine,  where  a  k 
was    hidden,    and  where    we 
sought  food  and  shelter,  and 
found  them  both  at   our  ser-  j^J 
vice.     There  were  but  three 
walls  to  the  khan ;  it  was  as  fine  as  a 
stable,    and    as   fragrant.      We  were 
stalled  along  with  the  beasts,  and  fed  at 
the  same  time  and  by  the  same  hands,    p!^* 


228     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

and  with  as  much  or  as  little  consideration  for 
our  bodily  comfort.  For  an  hour  we  shivered 
over  the  embers  that  had  been  coaxed  into  a 
blaze  on  our  arrival,  and  that  enveloped  us  with 
clouds  of  thick,  blue  smoke.  My  nargileh  lost 
its  flavor,  and  I  was  glad  to  cover  my  face 
with  the  blankets  that  lay  near  me,  and  drop 
off  into  a  deep  but  direful  sleep.  Your  Syrian 
khan  is  not  always  the  artistic  retreat  that 
sounds  well  in  song  and  looks  well  in  a  picture. 

Down  at  the  mouth  of  the  valley,  above  the 
clouds  that  fall  upon  its  breast,  towered  the 
hoary -headed  Hermon,  king  of  mountains.  To 
the  west  loomed  Ante-Lebanon,  topped  with 
antique  cedar  groves,  and  thickly  peopled  with 
Christians ;  to  the  east  the  twin  range  of  snowy- 
crested  peaks  shut  out  Damascus  and  the  desert, 
beyond  which  Palmyra  sleeps  her  eternal  sleep. 
All  about  us  cattle  fed  upon  the  broad,  green- 
carpeted  steppes.  The  distant  mountains 
echoed  faintly  the  artillery  of  the  retreating  gale. 

We  arose,  remounted,  and  made  a  brilliant 
charge  upon  the  walls  of  Baalbek,  that  were 
soon  discovered  at  the  very  top  of  the  valley. 
Baalbek,  a  temple  sacred  to  Baal  and  all  the 
gods, — a  temple  four  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea,  in  the  midst  of  a  green  garden  at  the  top 
of  the  beautiful  Valley  of  Litany; — Baalbek, 
the  proud  mother  of  sun-worship  and  moon- 
worship,    from  whose  high  altars   curled  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      229 

smoke  of  the  sacrifice,  but  where  later  the 
Apostles  of  the  one  true  God  set  up  their  stand- 
ard of  the  Cross.  When  it  had  been  thrown 
down,  in  its  turn,  the  followers  of  the  Prophet 
entered  into  the  Holy  of  Holies,  and  the  voice 
of  the  muezzin  rang  out  from  the  summit  of  the 
citadel  "Come  to  security!  Come  to  prayer!" 
But  the  prayers  were  said  out  at  last,  and  the 
Turks  made  a  fortress  of  one  of  the  world's 
wonders.  Whatever  loveliness  was  left  in  the 
once  wonderful  temple,  these  bearded  bar- 
barians stamped  out  with  the  heel  of  scorn. 

From  the  most  distant  times  Baalbek  was  the 
chief  seat  of  sun-worship,  and  was  for  a  time 
known  as  Heliopolis.  Its  temple  contained  a 
golden  statue  of  Apollo,  which  on  certain 
annual  festivals  was  borne  about  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  citizens.  Trajan  consulted  its 
famous  oracle  before  entering  on  his  second 
Parthian  campaign.  Under  Constantine  the 
temple  became  a  Christian  church ;  but  in  A, 
D.  748  the  Arabs  sacked  the  city,  and  its  total 
destruction  followed  in  A.  D.  1400.  What  the 
Arabs,  Tartars,  and  Turks  had  spared  was 
almost  completely  annihilated  by  a  terrific 
earthquake  in  the  year  1759.  The  once  splen- 
did city  is  now  reduced  to  an  insignificant  vil- 
lage of  a  few  hundred  impoverished  people. 

The  stupendous  proportions  of  some  of  the 
foundation  stones  of  the  temple  give  a  name 


230      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


to  the   structure  —  Trilithon 

(three-stoned).     These  three 

stones,  thirteen  feet  in  height 

and  as   many  in   thickness, 

are   respectively    sixty-four, 

sixty-three  and  one-half,  and  sixty-two  feet  in 

length.      The    gods     themselves    must     have 

wrought  here — or  devils ;  and  perhaps  it  is  for 

this  reason  that  no  one  is  permitted  long  to 

inhabit  this  Temple  of  the  Sun. 

A  fanciful  tradition  records  that  Baalbek 
was  built  by  Solomon  to  charm  one  of  his 
Sidonian  wives.  The  genii  under  his  com- 
mand were  pressed  into  service, — the  males 
building  the  walls,  and  the  females  bringing 
the  stone  from  the  quarry  close  at  hand.  As 
one  of  the  stone-bearers  was  approaching  the 
temple,  she  learned  that  her  brother  had  been 
RUINS  AT  BAALBEK,  crushcd  to  death  by  the  fall  of  a  portion  of  the 
walls;  and  in  despair  she  dropped  her  burden 
where  she  stood,  and  no  one  was  ever  found 
able  to  remove  it.  The  block  still  lies  in  the 
quarry,  and  measures  fourteen  feet  in  height 
and  breadth,  and  sixty-eight  in  length. 

The  last  change  has  come  to  Baalbek.  Goats 
climb  its  tottering  walls  in  search  of  the  lichen 
that  is  rooted  there.  Cattle  are  pastured  in  the 
grass-grown  courts;  husbandmen  till  the  soil 
that  has  accumulated  in  the  royal  chambers; 
and  the  robust  cabbage,  the  burly  beet,  and 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       231 

the  homely  but  hearty  artichoke  thrive  in  the 
fat  dust  of  the  thrice-dead  past.  A  wall  that  is 
apparently  the  work  of  a  colossal  race;  a 
chamber  rich  and  lovely  even  in  its  utter 
decay;  a  cluster  of  superb  columns,  the  last 
remnant  of  the  beauty  that  was  once  enthroned 
here  (and  these  columns  at  the  point  of 
destruction,  for  one  or  another  of  the  mountain 
gales  will  dash  them  into  the  dust) — such  is 
Baalbek  of  to-day! 

The  lads  of  the  neighboring  village  play 
quoits  with  fragments  of  marble  chipped  off 
from  the  statues  that  stand  in  noseless  and 
forsaken  rows;  groves  have  sprung  up  about 
the  temple,  and  a  cold  mountain  stream 
sparkles  and  sings  along  its  base.  It  is  the 
most  melancholy,  the  most  mystic  ruin  imagin- 
able ;  and  at  twilight,  as  I  watched  it  from  the 
brow  of  a  neighboring  hill,  that  cluster  of 
slender  columns  stood  up  against  the  sky ;  and 
as  the  evening  star  threw  an  enchanting  ray 
across  them,  I  could  not  resist  comparing  them 
to  shattered  lute-strings.  What  melody  they 
once  gave  forth!  and  now  how  the  winds 
sweep  the  sacred  chords  but  call  forth  no 
response !  That  instrument  was  once  so  cun- 
ningly touched,  it  moved  to  love  or  wrought  to 
madness  the  passionate  heart  of  the  listener. 
But  the  soul  that  conceived  it,  and  the  spirit  in 
which  it  was  conceived,  have  long  since  per- 


232      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

ished  out  of  sight,  and  the  flight  of  the  gods 
left  but  the  shattered  strings,  from  which  the 
voluptuous  music  has  passed  for  evermore. 

And  now  away  to  the  Lebanon !  After  sur- 
mounting the  first  crest  of  the  range,  the 
winding  trail  leads  us  through  gorges  trembling 
with  the  thunder  of  ice-cold  cataracts ;  through 
deep  and  wild  ravines;  along  giddy  heights, 
where  one  false  step  would  have  hurled  us 
down  to  death  in  the  abyss  a  thousand  feet 
below.  Numerous  villages  dot  the  mountain 
valleys,  and  some  of  them  are  nestled  far  up 
among  the  wintry  crags  of  the  higher  range. 
Thousands  of  monasteries  are  planted  among 
the  rocky  gorges  and  upon  the  sunny  hill-sides. 
Most  of  these  are  the  homes  of  Maronite 
monks ;  a  few  are  of  the  Armenian  Order,  but 
the  Maronites — the  descendants  of  the  early 
Christians  —  predominate  throughout  the 
Lebanon . 

The  Druses  haunt  some  of  the  glens — the 
high-horned  women,  and  the  barbarous  men 
who  did  some  bloody  work  in  common  with  the 
Mohammedans  during  the  reign  of  terror  in 
i860.  The  Druses  are  ever  at  war,  and  but  for 
the  Turkish  soldiers,  who  keep  them  in  sub- 
jection, they  would  give  the  Christians  little 
rest,  even  in  Lebanon,  the  stronghold  of 
Oriental  Christianity. 

As  for  the  cedars,  they  aie  fine  old  fellows — 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       233 

a  dozen  or  so  of  them;  and  they  bear  up 
against  the  bitter  winter  with  miraculous  forti- 
tude, considering  the  fact  that  they  are  be- 
lieved to  have  stood  at  the  time  when  their 
fellows  were  cut  down  and  borne  away  in 
floats  and  by  camel  and  drag,  to  roof  the 
Temple  of  King  Solomon  at  Jerusalem.  It  is 
intensely  lonely  on  the  mountain-top.  The 
cedars  called  "the  saints"  stand  apart,  and 
shelter  a  small  hermit  chapel.  A  grove  of 
some  thousand  trees  is  not  far  distant ;  but  the 
thin  air,  the  hiss  or  hush  in  the  melancholy, 
drooping  boughs,  the  winding  trail  that  comes 
out  of  the  cloud  over  the  last  summit,  and  dis- 
appears in  the  mist  that  enshrouds  the  peak 
before  us — is  it  any  wonder  that  we  pressed 
forward  at  a  reckless  pace,  and  rested  not 
until  our  eyes  once  more  fell  upon  the  hot, 
palm-fringed  shore,  and  swept  all  the  waters 
of  the  splendid  sea? 

Beirut !  I  know  of  nothing  more  beautiful, 
as  a  landscape  picture,  than  a  bird's-eye  view 
of  Beirut  from  the  west  slope  of  the  Lebanon. 
The  sapphire  sea  dotted  with  snowflake  sails, 
the  golden  shore,  the  paradise  of  palms  and 
pines — here  they  meet  together  and  dream 
over  that  fantastical  poem  of  Heine;  the 
mosque  domes  and  minarets  that  shine  like 
ivory  in  the  sombre  green  of  the  g^roves ;  the 
mellow  peal  of  bells  rolling  up  on  the  summer 


234     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

gale,  and  that  gale  heavy  with  the  delicious 
breath  of  orange  and  citron  and  blossoming 
vines — surely  it  is  a  comfort  to  tarry  for  a  few 
last  days  in  so  sweet  a  land  as  this. 

For  ten  days  I  was  a  prisoner  in  Beirut, 
awaiting  the  steamer  for  the  North.  The 
heat  increased  almost  hourly;  it  became  a 
burden,  and  at  last  it  was  only  tolerable,  out 
of  doors,  very  early  in  the  morning,  or  after 
twilight  in  the  evening.  Even  the  great  pine 
groves  that  invoked  the  muse  of  Lamartine, 
and  still  charm  the  smokers  and  coffee-tasters 
of  Beirut,  failed  to  comfort  me.  The  Cafe 
Chantant,  down  by  the  sea,  where  the 
Viennese  gfirls,  whom  I  saw  at  Port  Said,  play 
nightly — the  shady,  shabby  terrace  overhang- 
ing the  sea — is  infested  by  Greeks;  it  is  the 
one  place  of  public  resort  in  Beirut,  and  many 
a  time  I  sat  there  under  the  palm-boughs  by 
the  water's  edge  and  watched  the  sun  go  down 
into  the  deep,  and  heard  the  gun  from  the 
flagship,  and  saw  the  bunting  slide  down  from 
the  peak.  Then  the  stars  came  out  and  the 
moon  rose,  throwing  a  white  light  upon  the 
rocks,  that  resembled  the  first  fall  of  snow.  A 
few  bathers  still  strode  into  the  waves,  sing- 
ing, unless  the  orchestra  were  then  rendering 
some  strain  of  Strauss,  that  must  have  rung 
sadly  enough  in  the  ears  of  the  homesick  girls 
who  played  it. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      235 


In  the  sunshine  I  have  seen  columns  lying 
under  the  sea  near  one  of  the  numerous  caf^s; 
columns  crusted  with  mussels  and  swathed  in 
long  ribbons  of  sea-grass — probably  remains  of 
the  baths  established  by  Herod  Agrippa,  who 
embellished  this  "Berytus"  with  baths, 
theatres,  and  gladiatorial  circuses.  There 
are  towers  on  the  seashore  built  by  the 
Crusaders.     But  few  other  traces  of  the  past 


THE  CEDARS   OF   LEBANON. 


236      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

remain,  and  nothing  that  points  to  the  earlier 
history  of  the  port. 

It  is  a  long  leap  from  Phoenician  times — the 
times  of  the  Canaanitish  "Gibbites" — to  this 
year  of  Our  Lord,  when  the  steamer  is  over- 
due ;  but  let  us  take  it.  It  is  getting  too  hot 
for  me  in  Beirut.  I  bake  by  night  and  boil  by 
day.  I  hear  the  voice  of  ten  thousand  birds  in 
the  lemon  grove  under  my  window ;  I  hear  the 
plash  of  the  fountain  in  the  marble  court;  I 
take  my  dinner  upon  the  housetop  at  twilight, 
and  find  half  the  town  doing  the  very  same 
sort  of  thing.  The  fair  Jewess  in  the  next 
block  nods  at  me  over  the  chimney-pots, 
because  we  are  always  up  under  the  stars 
together;  the  fat  Turk  on  the  roof  below  me 
g^ves  me  a  profound  salaam^  which  I  return 
to  the  best  of  my  ability.  We  are  all  uncom- 
monly sociable  at  twilight;  and  no  wonder; 
for  there  is  a  surpassing  loveliness  in  sea  and 
sky  and  air,  that  attunes  our  souls  to  harmony. 

Nothing  can  be  finer  or  more  refining  than 
the  deep  and  profound  repose  of  the  twilight 
of  the  East.  Yet  we  have  had  our  trials  in  the 
hotel,  notwithstanding.  Our  fat  little  land- 
lady flies  about  in  stiff  and  ample  skirts,  that 
rattle  like  paper  at  every  step  she  takes.  Our 
little  landlady  has  a  son,  who  lately  let  slip  a 
foolish  word,  and  he  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of 
his  folly.     It  seems  that  a  native  Christian  had 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     237 

sought  refuge  from  the  tax-gatherer  under  our 
metaphorical  wings.  He  was  discovered, 
seized  by  the  soldiers,  and  borne  away  to 
prison.  The  landlady's  boy,  hot-blooded  and 
glib-tongued,  made  several  remarks  concerning 
the  Prophet,  highly  offensive  to  the  ears  of  the 
Mohammedans.  This  occurred  about  10.00 
a.  m.  The  boy  was  of  French  parentage  and 
a  French  subject.  A  steamer  chanced  to  be  up 
for  Marseilles.  The  poor  fellow  was  instantly 
banished  for  life;  and  that  steamer  bore  him 
away  in  the  afternoon,  leaving  his  grief- 
stricken  parents  to  mourn  the  loss  of  their  only 
child,  and  to  pay  a  fine  of  some  hundreds  of 
francs.  And  now  our  poor  little  landlady  is  so 
sorry,  that  the  starch  has  all  gone  out  of  her 
skirts,  and  she  wanders  about  the  house  look- 
ing like  a  big  top  with  the  hum  carefully 
extracted.  Meanwhile,  the  Turks  are  crucify- 
ing dogs  against  doors  in  derision  of  Our  Sav- 
ior's Death,  and  we  hear  horrible  rumors  of 
approaching  slaughter,  a  repetition  of  the 
barbarities  of  i860.  Such  is  life  under  the 
crescent  when  the  Turks  have  smelt  blood. 

The  last  night  in  Beirut  the  moonlight 
flooded  the  garden  unJer  my  latticed  window, 
and  the  light  was  so  green  it  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  filtered  through  an  emerald.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  house  lay  a  mysterious 
orchard    of    figs    and    pomegranates;    a    few 

16 


238     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

cypresses  in  the  distance  were  as  black  and  as 
stately  as  obelisks;  the  far-away  mountains 
soared  to  heaven,  and  were  as  vapory  as  banks 
of  clouds.  In  the  midst  of  the  garden  stood 
two  Arab  towers,  illuminated,  and  with  their 
great  arched  windows  glowing  like  half -moons. 
I  heard  the  tinkling  lute-strings,  the  throbbing 
drums,  and  sweet,  wild  flute-notes;  and  from 
time  to  time  the  joyous  laughter  of  girls  filled 
the  garden  with  a  music  such  as  the  followers 
of  the  Prophet  delight  in — and  there,  though 
we  be  Christians,  we  can  strike  hands  with 
them  heartily  and  honestly.  It  was  my  last 
night  in  Beirut.  It  began  like  a  dream  of 
delight,  it  ended  in  hot  sirocco,  that  filled  the 
air  with  red  sand-clouds,  and  made  the  palms 
of  my  hands  tingle  and  my  eyes  smart  with 
pain. 

For  hours  I  had  tossed  on  my  sleepless  couch, 
the  victim  of  dumb  mosquitoes,  that  drop 
on  you  like  sparks  of  fire ;  of  a  mouse  in  the 
comer;  of  swift  flashes  of  heat-lightning,  and 
a  vision  of  stormy  seas.  But  on  the  morrow 
the  wind  perished,  and  Beirut  was  consumed 
in  her  own  furnace  heat. 


VIII. 

GLIMPSES  OF  ASIA  MINOR. 

The  farewells  had  scarce  been  said.  On  the 
day  following,  while  we  swung  at  anchor  off 
Beirut,  steam  up,  and  the  warning  whistle 
screaming  savagely  at  the  tardy  flight  of  the 
shore-folk — the  warmth  of  the  last  hand-clasp 
still  tingled  in  our  palms,  when  we  dismissed 
Syria  and  all  her  manifold  associations,  and 
turned  eagerly  and  studiously  to  the  charts  of 
our  new  cruise.  So  soon  does  the  prospect  of 
a  fresh  experience  obliterate  the  impressions  of 
the  past  in  the  barbaric  and  bewildering  East! 

It  was  twilight.  The  shore  was  bathed  in 
the  soft  radiance  of  the  after-glow;  Lebanon 
towered  above  us  like  a  mount  of  glory;  the 
land  breeze  stole  over  the  sea  freighted  with 
the  delicious  odor  of  citron  groves.  It  was  an 
hour  picked  out  of  ten  thousand — an  hour  that 
one  never  forgets. 

Near  us  three  ships  lay  at  anchor ;  their  steam 
was  also  up ;  their  decks  swarmed  with  excited 
people,  and  an  unbroken  line  of  small  boats 
and  lighters  passed  to  and  fro  between  the 
ships  and  shore.  The  Sultan  had  called  for 
help,  and  Northern  Syria  was  drained.  These 
239 


240     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

barges  bore  some  thousands  of  men  (I  forget 
the  exact  number)  out  to  the  ships  that  were  to 
convey  them  to  the  seat  of  war.  They  were 
all  maddened  with  drink,  and  with  the  fanatical 
Turkish  music  that  was  heard  on  deck  and 
echoed  from  the  land.  They  joined  the  bar- 
baric chorus,  and  thus  took  leave  of  the  land 
they  love  with  a  lover's  adoration,  to  meet  their 
miserable  fate  at  the  front.  It  was  said  in 
Beirut  that  there  was  not  time,  nor  inclination 
either,  to  properly  provision  the  transport 
ships,  and  that  the  soldiers  were  to  be  put  on 
short  allowance  immediately.  It  was  said  also 
that  when  fever  or  an  epidemic  breaks  out  on 
a  Turkish  troop  ship,  the  victims  are  imme- 
diately dropped  overboard,  as  it  is  easier  to 
sacrifice  a  few  than  to  endanger  the  many. 

Old  friends  met  us  at  table  that  night, — 
friends  who  had  dropped  in  upon  us  at  Cairo, 
the  Nile  cataract,  Jerusalem,  Damascus,  and 
almost  everywhere.  We  steamed  over  the 
smooth  sea  together,  and  paced  the  deck  far 
into  the  night,  smoking,  dreaming,  chatting, 
comparing  notes,  and  laughing  to  think  how 
small  the  world  is,  and  how  the  traveler  is  for- 
ever renewing  the  chance  acquaintance,  which, 
agreeable  as  it  is  for  the  time,  is  usually 
dropped  without  more  than  a  momentary 
regret. 

At   dawn  our   anchor  chain  whizzed  over- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     241 

board,  and  the  good  ship  trembled  from  stem 
to  stem.  We  came  to  a  standstill  in  a  shallow 
sea,  about  the  color  of  pea-soup,  off  the  flat 
shores  of  Cyprus.  The  island  is  rather  forbid- 
dng,  all  ashen-gray  and  dead.  A  few  dusty 
palms  and  fewer  cypresses  rise  above  the  low, 
white  walls  of  the  port,  and  they  are  the  only 
greenish  things  visible.  In  the  centre  of  the 
island,  some  miles  back  from  the  coast,  rises  a 
splendid  mountain.  I  raked  the  ship  to  find 
some  oracle  who  could  give  me  its  name.  Of 
course  our  guide-books  were  all  packed  away. 
One  never  has  a  guide-book  in  hand  when  it  is 
most  needed.  I  ventured  to  pronounce  it 
Olympus,  but  was  frowned  down  by  an 
enraged  multitude  not  yet  prepared  for  so 
glorious  a  spectacle. 

All  day  long  the  ship  rocked  in  an  ugly  chop- 
sea  ;  but  some  of  us,  at  the  risk  of  a  wetting, 
went  on  shore  to  stroll  about  one  of  the  dullest 
towns  in  the  world.  We  refused  to  purchase  a 
half  bushel  of  antique  earthen  vases  for  a  mere 
song.  Back  for  dinner,  after  a  sand  storm  on 
shore  and  a  spray  bath  in  the  little  boat  that 
bore  us  over  to  the  ship  again,  we  discovered 
that  Mount  Troadas — the  old  fellow  towering 
7,000  feet  above  the  sea — is  really  the  Cyprian 
Olympus.  Out  of  these  tumbling  waters 
sprang  the  foam-bom  Venus.  To  this  hour 
there  is  an  annual  festival  in  the  island,  much 


242     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

frequented  by  virgins,  who  are  there  sought  in 
marriage.  What  is  this  but  a  modification  of 
the  ancient  rites  observed  by  the  Cyprians? 
The  feast,  called  the  "Deluge,"  is  supposed  to 
commemorate  the  birth  of  Venus,  and  all 
Cyprus  on  that  day  goes  boating  in  honor  of 
their  beautiful  but  rather  disreputable  goddess. 

The  Cyprians  were  famous  for  their  beauty. 
It  was  as  much  as  a  young  man*s  heart  was 
worth  to  go  on  shore  in  the  old,  old  days.  He 
may  go  now;  for  the  maidens  have  grown 
peaked,  and  there  is  nothing  left  on  the  prem- 
ises more  tempting  than  a  glass  of  weak  lime 
juice,  and  a  cigar  so  strong  that  it  actually 
kicks  in  your  teeth.  Lamic,  our  seaport,  is  the 
ancient  Chittim,  the  same  that  has  been 
written  of  by  Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  Ezekiel,  and 
Daniel.  This  fact  is  the  only  interesting  feature 
of  the  place. 

We  put  off  to  sea  at  sunset,  and  hugged  the 
island  all  that  night;  for  there  are  145  miles  of 
her.  Olympus  was  star-crowned  and  beauti- 
ful. The  burnt-offerings  that  ascended  in  that 
purple  dusk  were  fragrant  in  the  nostrils  of  the 
faithful;  and  there  was  something  pleasant, 
though  pantheistical,  in  the  thought  that  those 
skies  were  once  clouded  with  gods. 

All  the  following  day  we  steamed  along  the 
coast  of  Asia  Minor.  How  agreeable  it  was  to 
turn  from  the  blue  desert,  the  watery  waste, 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      243 

and  watch  the  huge  mountains,  the  distant 
mist-filled  valleys,  and  the  cloud-like  capes  and 
promontories  that  bathed  in  the  azure  sea 
under  the  azure  sky ! 

Another  night,  and  in  the  early  dawn  that 
followed  we  came  to  a  standstill  in  the  harbor 
of  ancient  Rhodes.  Coaling  and  the  transfer 
of  luggage  made  night  so  hideous  that  half  the 
ship's  passengers  turned  out  in  a  state  of 
alarm.  It  was  still  dark.  Nothing  in  the  har- 
bor was  visible  but  a  huge  revolving  light,  that 
threw  at  intervals  a  ghastly  ray  across  the  ink- 
black  sea.  By  and  by  a  cloud  parted  in  the 
horizon  and  disclosed  the  skeleton  of  the  moon, 
which  lodged  for  a  moment  among  the  black 
spars  of  a  ship  that  lay  at  anchor  near  us,  and 
then  fell  and  sank  like  a  corpse  in  the  dark 
waters  of  the  sea. 

This  was  the  island  that  Apollo  called  from 
the  waves,  one  of  the  oldest  landmarks  in 
history,  possessing  one  of  the  finest  climates  in 
the  world; — an  island  that  has  been  much 
shaken  by  wars  and  earthquakes;  that  was 
fortified  by  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  and  is 
still  lovely  to  look  upon,  though  the  Colossus 
fell  long  ago,  and  was  carted  away,  nearly  a 
thousand  years  later,  on  the  humps  of  nine 
hundred  camels.  A  Jew  bought  it  for  old  iron, 
and  no  doubt  it  was  a  bargain.  Would  you 
believe  it? — there  is  no   authority  for  stating 


244     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

that  the  Colossus,  which  was  105  feet  high, 
stood  over  the  mouth  of  the  harbor  with  a 
foot  on  each  shore.  So  perish,  one  after 
another,  all  pretty  fables  of  antiquity — and 
more's  the  pity! 

Under  way  once  more  for  a  cruise  of  four- 
and-twenty  hours  among  islands  the  most 
famous  in  the  world.  Another  night,  with  the 
sea  so  placid  that  the  image  of  each  star  floats 
unbroken  on  its  oily  surface.  Another  morn- 
ing, and  our  engine  suddenly  stops,  reverses, 
stops  again ;  a  lot  of  little  bells  jingle  in  the 
engine-room;  our  anchor  chain  whizzes  over- 
board. What  a  jolly  sound  it  is,  and  what  a 
good,  long  breath  of  satisfaction  a  fellow 
draws  after  it! 

On  the  instant  I  run  to  my  side  light  and 
have  a  picture  all  my  own.  I  see  back  of  the 
cumbrous  brass  frame  of  the  bull's  eye, 
through  which  I  stare  eagerly,  a  flour-white 
city,  reflected  in  the  sea,  which  kisses  its  very 
feet; — a  snow-white  city,  blown  like  a  drift 
along  the  slope  of  green  mountains ;  an  antique 
castle  on  the  mountain  top,  and  in  the  town 
below  clusters  of  minarets  looking  like  huge 
waxen  candles,  each  tipped  with  a  crescent 
flame.  Off  to  the  right  a  great  forest  of 
sombre  cypresses.  How  like  a  funeral  pall  it 
sweeps  across  the  shoulders  of  the  mountains ! 
This  is  Smyrna — "infidel  Smyrna" — a  city  of 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     245 

200,000  souls,  of  whom  90,000  are  Greeks, 
80,000  Turks,  and  the  others  Catholics  or 
Jews. 

Our  ship  was  soon  deserted;  the  morning 
coflEee  was  forgotten  in  the  excitement  of  the 
hour;  twenty  caiques  were  laden  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  as  the  imbat — the  daily  zephyr  that 
blows  the  breath  of  the  plague  out  of  Smyrna 
— was  rising,  we  hoisted  sail  and  did  the 
regatta  business  for  about  fifteen  minutes  in 
the  most  gorgeous  style. 

There  are  rugs  and  carpets  in  Smyrna; 
there  are  sponges,  emery,  chrome  ore,  madder 
root,  liquorice  paste,  opium,  and  attar  of  rose. 
Sm)rma  was  a  great  cotton  port  before  the  rise 
of  New  Orleans;  now  it  runs  to  mulberries 
and  silkworms;  but,  after  all,  it  is  the  fig  of 
Smyrna  which  sweetens  our  memory  of  a  brief 
sojourn  among  its  booths  and  bazaars. 

Would  you  believe  it? — there  are  people  who 
actually  search  for  the  site  of  the  church  writ 
of  in  the  Apocalypse ;  Smyrna  was  one  of  the 
seven  referred  to  by  St.  John.  The  obliging 
guides  kindly  point  out  one  ruin  or  another,  in 
order  to  supply  the  demand ;  but  in  the  ancient 
Acropolis,  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain  back  of 
the  town,  there  is  a  ruined  mosque.  This  was 
originally  a  Christian  Church,  and  there  St. 
Polycarp  preached.  A  little  below  it,  on  the 
site  of  the  stadium,  the   Saint  was  martyred. 


246     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

A  solitary  cypress  stands  like  a  funeral  shaft  to 
mark  the  hallowed  spot. 

A  railroad  strikes  out  from  Smyrna  for  the 
heart  of  Asia.  It  runs  through  Ephesus,  48 
miles  distant,  and  thither  most  pilgrims  follow 
it.  Even  in  this  brief  excursion  you  fall  among 
the  fugitives  and  the  heralds  of  the  nomadic 
tribes  that  stretch  all  the  way  to  China.  There 
are  real  gypsies  here,  with  their  own  tongue, 
their  own  religion,  and  with  inimitable  vices 
and  virtues,  likewise  all  their  own.  What  is 
left  of  Ephesus  is  a  crumbling  tower,  a  few 
shattered  columns,  subterranean  chambers,  the 
outlines  of  Cyclopean  walls,  and  a  handful  of 
troublesome  people,  who  bore  you  with  antique 
coins  and  bits  of  ancient  pottery.  The  desola- 
tion of  Ephesus  defies  description.  Dramatic 
justice  seems  to  demand  the  total  annihilation 
of  a  city  whose  origin  is  attributed  to  the  gods, 
though  its  chief  temple  was  one  of  the  seven 
wonders  of  the  world ;  and  the  city  itself  was, 
next  to  Jerusalem,  the  holiest  of  Christian 
cities,  and  the  most  noted  in  Apostolic  labors. 

The  Ephesus  of  to-day  is  a  meadow,  littered 
with  fragments  of  marble,  and  in  many  places 
undermined.  Even  the  primitive  plow  of  the 
Levant  would  find  it  difficult  to  tear  the  sod  in 
so  strong  a  field.  This  was  the  refuge  of 
Latona;  the  cradle  of  Apollo  and  Diana;  the 
haunt  of  the  great  god  Pan ;  the  scene  of  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      247 

metamorphosis  of  Syrinx  into  a  reed;  the 
chief  seat  of  the  Amazons,  where  Bacchus 
contended  with  them,  and  Hercules  defeated 
them.  Ephesus  contended  for  the  honor  of 
Homer's  birth;  she  had  her  poets — Callinus 
and  Musaeus — and  her  schools  of  philosophy, 
painting,  sculpture,  architecture,  metal  work, 
magic,  and  afterward  of  Christian  philosophy. 
The  heroes  of  two  thousand  years  visited 
Ephesus,  and  are  associated  with  her  history. 
Antony  and  Cleopatra  held  gorgeous  revels  in 
the  splendid  city,  and,  thence  collecting  play- 
ers and  musicians,  they  sailed  for  Samos  in  a 
fleet  of  barges,  the  sight  of  which  must  have 
recalled  the  days  and  the  deeds  of  the  gods. 

The  Christian  history  of  Ephesus  is  no  less 
remarkable.  Almost  within  the  shadow  of  the 
sacred  grove  where  Pan  piped  and  where  Diana 
slew  Orion;  where  the  statue  of  Hecate  was 
enshrined,  the  magnificence  of  which  was  so 
terrible  that  men  were  struck  blind  with  the 
sight  of  it;  where  the  Eleusinian  mysteries 
and  the  mysteries  of  Ceres  were  celebrated — 
here  Paul  planted  and  ApoUos  watered;  St. 
John  the  Evangelist,  released  from  Patmos, 
found  sanctuary  and  death  in  the  bosom  of  the 
first  of  the  seven  churches  which  he  had 
addressed  in  his  Revelation.  Tradition 
mingles  with  the  fame  of  Ephesus  the  name  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  and  of  St.  Mary  Magdalene, 


248     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

as  well  as  many  others.  But  the  Grotto  of  the 
Seven  Sleepers  is,  perhaps,  the  most  famous 
shrine  in  the  vicinity ;  for  it  has  been  a  place 
of  pilgrimage  during  fifteen  centuries,  not  only 
for  Christians  but  for  Mohammedans,  who 
have  a  chapter  on  the  Grotto  in  their  Koran. 
To-day  you  may  purchase  in  the  Talisman 
Bazaar  of  Smyrna  golden  medals  or  precious 
stones  engraved  with  the  names  of  the  Seven 
Sleepers,  and  these  are  warranted  to  act  as  a 
powerful  charm  against  evil. 

"Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians!"  was  the 
cry  that  once  rang  through  the  glorious  city, 
but  the  cry  was  raised  for  one  who  is  greater 
than  all  others;  and,  though  the  city  was  "nigh 
unto  the  sea,"  and  its  port  is  one  of  the  great 
inlets  to  the  East,  there  is  nothing  of  it  left 
but  a  few  marbles  that  are  moss-grown,  and  a 
few  chambers  that  are  filled  with  mould,  and 
all  its  history  is  as  a  handful  of  leaves  that  are 
scattered  in  the  winds. 

Having  restored  my  soul  with  the  figs  and 
sherbet  of  Smyrna,  I  was  ready  to  laugh  at  the 
burden  bearers  that  stagger  through  the 
streets  humped  like  camels;  they  all  wear  a 
kind  of  leather  saddle  strapped  to  their  shoul- 
ders, that  makes  a  platform  back  of  their  neck. 
They  are  as  strong  as  grants,  and  trot  off  with 
astonishing  burdens ;  anything,  in  fact,  from  a 
piano  to  a  small  cottage. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      249 

Boom !  it  was  the  grin  from  otir  ship,  and  a 
peremptory  recall.  We  swallowed  our  coffee 
in  a  little  ball  of  soft  black  grounds — the  less 
liquor  the  more  delicious  the  draught  in  the 
mouth  of  a  Mohammedan — sprang  into  a 
caique,  spread  sail  in  a  stiff  breeze,  and 
plunged  over  the  tossing  waves  in  a  perpetual 
shower  of  spray.  Smyrna,  far  astern,  looked 
decidedly  pretty  from  the  sea;  but  our  visit 
reminded  us  of  some  impromptu  picnic  rather 
than  of  anything  more  serious;  yet  Smyrna 
was  called  in  her  day  the  Forest  of  Philos- 
ophers, the  Museum  of  Ionia,  the  Asyhim  of 
the  Muses  and  Graces,  and  she  is  now  known 
as  the  pleasure-house  of  the  seductive  Smyr- 
niot,  whom  "Eothen"  calls  the  young  Perse- 
phone, transcendent  Queen  of  Shades! 


IX. 


ATHENS. 

En  Route!  A  night's  sail  from  Smyrna 
brings  the  voyager  to  Syra.  Piraeus,  the  port 
of  Athens,  is  but  six  or  seven  hours  distant 
from  Syra  across  the  Homeric  Sea.  Syra  is 
Greek  to  the  backbone.  The  town  climbs  the 
steep  slope  of  a  high  hill,  so  that  the  houses 
seem  set  one  upon  the  other.  They  are  all 
white  and  ugly.  Not  a  green  thing  is  visible ; 
even  the  island  is  dust-colored  and  naked. 
Syra,  with  its  pyramid  of  houses,  looks  as  if 
it  were  built  of  cards ;  as  if  the  first  gust  from 
the  right  quarter  would  carry  the  city  off  over 
the  sea  and  scatter  it  on  the  four  winds. 

The  harbor  of  Pirasus  is  scarcely  less  un- 
lovely. To  be  sure,  you  are  pointed  to  the 
tomb  of  Themistocles,  on  the  promontory,  and 
yonder  towers  the  Acropolis ;  and  the  peaks  of 
Parnes,  Hymettus  and  Pentelicus  are  crowned 
with  glorious  light;  but  close  at  hand  there 
are  store-houses  and  custom-houses,  and  many 
a  hovel  that  is  suggestive  of  poverty  and 
domestic  filth. 

Our    anchor    is  no    sooner  overboard    than 

swarms  of  natives  storm  us.     Hotel  runners 
250 


ATHENS. 


hail  us  in  all  the 
tongues  of  Babel. 
Greek,  real  Greek,  is 
poured  into  our  aston- 
ished ears.  It  sounds 
bookish,  and  recalls  the 

days  when  we  nibbled  the  dry  roots,  too  »< 
often  in  the  extra  hours  that  fall  to  the  lot 
of  the  delinquent.  This  modern  Greek 
sounds  well  enough  and  looks  well  enough,  but 
it  resembles  the  royal  tongue  of  Homer  only 
to  the  degree  that  the  modern  Athenian  resem- 
bles his  illustrious  god-nourished  predecessor. 
It  is  spurious,  and  to  be  guarded  against.  It 
is  half  a  page  of  the  Iliad  dealt  out  in  the  limp- 
ing lingo  of  the  fellow  at  the  foot  of  his  form. 
The  omnibus  that  plies  between  Piraeus  and 
Athens  is  certainly  preferable  to  the  rail  that 
likewise  modernizes  and  disfigures  the  capital 
of  Greece.  The  road  is  most  interesting. 
You  can  scarcely  turn  your  eyes  without  dis- 
covering some  improvement — evidence  of  the 
new  life  that  seems  to  be  awakening  in  the  heart 
of  that  long-slumbering  nation,  and  of  which, 

naturally  enough,  they  are  immensely  proud. 
251 


25 »     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

The  six-mile  drive  from  the  seaport  to  the 
capital  is  too  soon  ended,  and  the  splendor  of 
modem  Athens  bursts  upon  the  beholder  quite 
unexpectedly.  Young  Athens  might  easily  be 
mistaken  for  a  small  German  capital.  The 
Bavarian  influence  is  indelible;  and  though 
King  Otho  has  made  his  bow  and  retired,  and 
a  new  king  and  a  new  constitution  have  come  to 
the  troubled  surface,  this  modem  Athens  will 
probably  increase  and  multiply  in  every  phase 
and  feature  that  is  German  until  the  last 
feeble  remnant  of  the  original  race  has  burst 
with  pride  and  mingled  its  dust  with  the  sacred 
soil  of  Attica, 

Athens  has  broad,  glaring  streets,  full  of 
heat  in  summer,  and  ever  open  to  the  carousal 
of  the  winds  from  the  stormy  gulfs.  There 
are  rows  of  smallish  German  cottages,  snow- 
white,  two-storied,  isolated,  in  well-trimmed 
gardens.  You  are  cunningly  lured  on  to  the 
Grand  Place  du  Palais^  and  there  in  a  single 
glance  your  eye  takes  in  the  galaxy  of  modem 
monuments  that  stand  as  indisputable  proofs 
of  the  survival  of  art  on  the  soil  where  it 
reached  its  highest  perfection.  Here  you  have 
the  Royal  Palace — which  ought  not  to  complain 
if  it  were  mistaken  for  a  woolen  factory,  and 
here  also  are  three  huge  hotels,  brilliant  with 
balconies  and  bunting,  and  with  a  pension  of 
twelve  francs  a  day. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      253 

There  are  other  buildings  in  Athens  just  as 
big  and  just  as  ugly.  There  are  caf^s  without 
number,  but  not  by  any  means  without  attrac- 
tions, for  the  coffee  of  the  Orient  is  here 
brought  you  in  a  semi-solid  state,  and  the 
divine  nargileh  is  unwound  by  the  young  man 
in  the  fez,  who  is  not  bad-looking,  and  is  a 
tolerable  shot.  They  will  strike  your  lips  at 
three  paces,  these  pipe-boys,  with  a  coil  of  hose 
on  their  arm  and  an  extra  half  franc  in  their 
eye.  Bad  music  of  a  windy  afternoon  in  the 
Place  du  Palais^  sounding  brass  and  tinkling 
cymbal,  mingled  with  the  rumble  of  chariot- 
wheels,  the  click  of  festive  glasses,  and  the 
hubble-bubble  of  the  water-pipe  at  my  lips  and 
yours — is  it  not  Athens? 

Are  we  not  in  Greece?  See  the  Franco- 
Greek  names  on  the  street  corners — Rue 
d' Hermes,  Rue  du  Stade,  Rue  de  Minerve,  Rue 
d'Eole,  Boulevard  des  Philhellenes.  The 
Greek  names  on  the  houses,  the  shop  signs, 
the  bulletin  boards — do  they  not  set  you  think- 
ing on  the  half-forgotten  cases?  Is  it  not 
pleasant  to  know  that  the  Gate  of  Adrian  is 
within  a  stone's  throw — if  one  is  a  tolerable 
stone-thrower — and  that  the  temple  of  Zeus 
Olympus  (the  Olympieum)  is  just  above  the 
English  Church? 

From  the  Place  du  Palais,  from  the  top  win- 
dows of  the  hotels,  from  the  broad,  straight 
17 


254     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Street,  one  always  comes  sooner  or  later,  by 
one  method  of  locomotion  or  another,  to  the 
Acropolis.  This  also  must  be  accidental;  for 
time,  that  deals  so  tenderly  with  the  treasures 
of  antique  art,  has  brought  hordes  of  icono- 
clasts to  the  summit  of  that  forsaken  altar,  and 
there  they  have  dealt  death  and  destruction  to 
whatever  was  susceptible  to  the  barbarous 
hand  of  man.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  in  the 
flight  of  the  gods  mankind  lost  his  reverence 
for  the  purely  beautiful ;  they  took  with  them 
that  finer  faculty — the  sentiment  is  called 
feminine  to-day,  it  may  be  considered  infantile 
to-morrow — for  the  want  of  which  the  world  is 
now  suffering  sorely.  If  I  am  somewhat 
obscure,  I  trust  I  shall  be  pardoned  by  all 
those  who  have  approached  Athens  with  due 
reverence,  and  have  wished  it  to  the  old  boy 
within  the  next  four-and-twenty  hours. 

One  takes  coffee  repeatedly,  and  drives  again 
and  again  with  this  friend  or  that.  One 
smokes  religiously,  listens  to  the  vile  music  in 
the  Place  du  Palais,  sleeps  late  in  the  morning, 
after  having  done  the  Acropolis  by  sunrise; 
and  the  argument  of  the  new  Iliad  seldom 
rises  above  this  miserable  round.  If  the  Porch 
of  Adrian  or  the  Temple  of  the  Winds  finds  a 
comer  in  the  conversation,  the  one  or  the  other 
is  immediately  laughed  out  of  countenance  by 
the  young  woman  you  met  in  Cairo  and  passed 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      255 


on  the  wing  at  Nazareth,  but  who  is  resting  in 
Athens  and  has  everything  to  talk  of  save 
Athens.  The  fellow  who  proposes  to  join  you 
in  the  siege  of  Constantinople  is  a  conscientious 
mole ;  but,  bless  him !  he  is  dry  as  salt  fish,  and 
wrings  the  last  dew  of  poetry  from  every  sub- 
ject that  he  touches. 

Athens  is  a  spot  to  sulk  in.  "•^ 
I  have   sulked  in  Athens  in 
my  day.    England,  Germany, 
and  the  United  States  have 
combined    forces,    and    be- 
tween  them  the  little 
Greek  that  is  left  in 
Greece  is  of   that 


nature  which  God 
alone  in  His  in- 
finite mercy  can 
tolerate  for  a  mo- 
ment.    In  such  a 
mood    the     finest 
ruin     in    the    world 
would  find  no  favor 
in  my  eyes. 

But  the  wreck  of 
that  consecrated 
mount  is  so  complete,  so  bar- 
barous, that  one  can  not  walk 
without  striking  against  the  shattered 
marbles,  and  everywhere  the  finger  of 


THE  PARTHENON. 


256      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

vandalism  has  profaned  the  fairest  monument  of 
time.  Does  any  one  conjure  up  the  shades  of 
the  past  from  a  sepulchre  like  this?  Let  me, 
rather,  fly  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  Attica — 
and  that  is  only  a  little  way — even  to  bee- 
haunted  Hymettus,  or  to  any  convenient  dis- 
tance, where  I  can  turn  away  from  the 
insufferable  stupidity  of  this  young  Athens, 
and  look  alone  upon  the  Parthenon  in  the  blue 
edge  of  the  twilight. 

The  Parthenon !  It  rises  above  the  plains  as 
chaste  as  a  virgin  of  the  temple;  it  seems  to 
separate  itself  from  the  earth,  to  unfold  itself 
in  mystery  awful  and  profound ;  to  hold  once 
more  communion  with  the  gods.  The  after- 
glow that  illumines  the  inner  temple  rekindles 
the  fires  upon  the  flower-wreathed  altars.  I 
fancy  I  see  the  priestess,  followed  by  her  white- 
robed  flock,  and  I  think  I  hear  the  chant  of 
voices  and  the  wild  melody  of  flutes.  Or  is  it 
the  piping  of  some  shepherd  boy  sitting  in  the 
thyme  and  clover  on  the  banks  of  the  trickling 
Ilissus?  Color — pure,  transparent,  luminous 
color — floods  the  fair  temple,  and  in  that 
heavenly  light  the  gods  descend  and  sit  again 
in  their  seats,  clad  in  immortality.  The  best 
inspiration  of  the  artist  cannot  approach  the 
exquisite  loveliness  of  this  scene ;  but  it  is  as 
brief  as  it  is  perfect,  and  night  veils  the  silent 
temple  in  a  shower  of  golden  stars. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       257 

The  climax  is  over,  and  over  for  better,  for 
worse.  In  the  next  moment  I  find  myself 
thinking  of  Pericles  and  Phidias  as  if  they  were 
merely  fables,  and  trying  to  glorify  Xerxes, 
but  failing  utterly  in  the  attempt.  The  view 
from  the  Acropolis  is  no  less  splendid,  but  it 
must  be  indeed  from  it,  not  in  it.  What  the 
moon  does  for  white  marble  is  too  well  known 
for  me  to  dwell  on.  So,  also,  is  the  geography 
of  all  these  splendid  ruins.  I  can  only  add  that 
after  one  has  duly  execrated  the  memory  of 
Lord  Elgin,  as  every  one  is  bound  to  do  so 
sure  as  he  sees  the  wreck  that  noble  lord 
accomplished;  having  been  again  and  again 
over  the  same  old  drives,  and  some  of  them  are 
really  interesting;  having  concluded  that  Nike 
Apteros,  the  Unwinged  Victory,  had  doubt- 
less the  best  of  reasons  for  deserting  her 
Athenian  worshipers,  one  is  fully  ready  to 
gird  up  his  loins  and  depart — at  least  I  was. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  having  resolved  to 
enlist  in  the  ranks  of  the  adorers  of  Minerva 
Parthenos,  who  overlooked  all  Greece  and  the 
outer  world,  and  to  cut  Minerva  Polias  hence- 
forth and  forever,  because  her  statue  looked  at 
home — and  were  she  not  wall-eyed  she  would 
to-day  be  sick  at  heart  for  the  sights  that  are  to 
be  seen  there ;  having  bid  adieu  to  Tom,  Dick 
and  Harry,  the  Governor,  the  Prince,  two 
Counts  and  one  Embassador,  I  look  my  last  on 


2SS      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

the  gentlemen  in  petticoats  from  Albania,  and 
wonder  when  the  last  vestige  of  the  poetic,  the 
picturesque  and  the  artistic  will  have  died  out 
on  this  soil.  Not  long  hence,  I  fancy ;  for  the 
Acropolis  is  to-day  a  fitting  type  of  the  hope- 
less ruin  of  that  ill-fated  race. 

However,  in  the  torrent,  tempest,  and,  as  I 
may  say,  the  whirlwind  of  our  passion,  with 
our  toes  heading  for  the  Hellespont  and  our 
heels  ridding  themselves  of  the  last  particle  of 
classical  Greek  dust,  we  must  not  forget,  my 
friends,  that  Athens — not  this  cheap  modern 
Athens,  but  the  Athens  that  is  dead  and  gone 
— was  once  a  city  set  upon  a  hill,  whose  light 
could  not  be  hid ;  was  once  the  cradle  of  the 
arts,  the  temple  and  the  throne  of  beauty,  the 
glory  of  the  world ! 


X. 


A  CRUISE  IN  THE  HOMERIC  SEA. 

The  deck  is  covered  with  easy  chairs,  the 
awning  is  spread.  Everywhere  I  meet  famil- 
iar faces,  companions  of  voyages  past,  and 
within  an  hour  have  settled  myself  to  the  full 
enjoyment  of  a  cruise  in  classical  waters.  It 
is  time  for  us  to  lay  old  Homer  wide  open  upon 
our  knees;  let  him  be  our  guide  among  the 
blessed  islands  that  flock  about  us  like  low- 
hanging  clouds — Telos,  Syne,  Chalce ;  they  are 
not  much  sung  of,  and  never  were,  but  they 
have  at  least  a  harbor  and  a  temple  to  Apollo 
— the  former  deserted  and  the  latter  in  ruins. 

It  is  the  chaste  Diana,  the  swift,  black  ship, 
that  bears  us  over  the  watery  paths  of  the 
much-resounding  sea.  They  are  watery  paths, 
indeed,  that  separate  island  from  island,  and 
finally  lose  themselves  between  the  thousand 
shores  through  which  we  thread  our  way.  It  is 
like  river-sailing,  this  coasting  among  the 
Isles  of  Greece ;  it  is  the  Nile  over  again,  but 
with  more  variety  and  less  beauty;  for  these 
islands,  despite  their  name  and  fame,  are  bare 
and  bleak — even  Kalimno,  Astypalaea  and  Kos, 
the  most  picturesque  of  the  Sporades.     Do  you 

359 


26o      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

remember  how  Juno  bore  Jove  away  in  a  sleep 
to  well-inhabited  Kos? 

High- thundering-,  hospitable  Jove!  Satur- 
nian,  lofty-throned  Jove,  father  of  gods  and 
men!  Were  you  mocking  us  mortals,  or  are 
we  godlike  when  we  fall  from  grace  even  as 
you  fell? 

Little  Nisyrus,  with  its  population  of 
twenty-five  hundred  almond  and  wine  growers, 
was  torn  from  the  island  of  Kos  by  Poseidon, 
who  hurled  it  at  the  g^ant  Polybetes — but  you 
would  hardly  believe  it  if  you  did  not  hear  it 
on  the  spot. 

We  are  deeply  interested  in  our  progress 
now.  Not  an  hour  passes  without  the  upheaval 
of  some  new  island  from  the  deep.  They  file 
past  us  in  august  procession — the  shades  of  the 
gods  of  the  Iliad ;  we  seem  to  sleep  upon  the 
sea  as  they  float  by — the  islands  of  our  dream. 

Yonder  lies  a  wild  and  barren  bluff  that  has 
held  our  eye  for  half  an  hour.  We  turn  from 
the  rocky  coast  close  at  hand,  with  the  ruins 
above  it,  and  from  all  the  magical  isles  that  are 
fast  fading  in  the  distance  and  losing  themselves 
in  the  sea — for  yonder  is  Patmos,  where  St.  John 
wrote  the  Apocalypse  during  his  exile,  A.  D. 
94,  and  where  the  Monks  still  show  his  cave 
and  a  deep  fissure  in  the  rock  through  which 
the  Apostle  heard  "a  voice  from  heaven  like 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet." 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       261 


And  there  is  Samos,  once  the  centre  of 
Ionian  art  and  luxury,  whose  ancient  capital 
Herodotus  reckoned  one  of  the  first  cities  of  the 
world.  Antony  and  Cleopatra  caroused  there ; 
and,  doubtless,  their  fair-prowed  galleys, 
manned  by  Jove-nurtured  youths,  were  of  a 
piece  with  the  beaked  ships  and  the  hollow 
barks  of  Homer's  rolling-eyed  Greeks. 

Methinks  I  see  them  now,  as  they  erect  the 
mast  and  expanded  the  white  sail;  the  wind 
streams  into  the  bosom  of  the  sail  and  they 
cruise  under  the  blameless  escort  of  the  gods. 
Anon,  the  ripple  of  the  west  wind,  just  risen, 
is  poured  over  the  j^i^  ocean,  and  the  sea 
begins  to  darken  y^^^^^  under  it.  Evident- 
ly, the  marine 
old  man 
m  e  di- 
tates 
mis 


chief. 
Anto- 
ny speaks 
winged-words 
to    the    lads   in 


262      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

the  fo'  castle;  Cleopatra  screams  and  wrings 
her  hands,  but  the  boys  rather  like  it:  they 
propose  to  appease  the  gods  by  chanting  the 
joyous  pasan,  hymning  the  "fardarter,"  and 
they  do  it  in  the  good  old  style.  The  result  is 
highly  satisfactory.  It  is  written,  "Whoever 
obeys  the  gods,  to  him  they  hearken  propi- 
tiously. ' '  The  hoary  sea,  the  darkling  vision 
subsides ;   they  'bout  ship  and  make  for  land. 

Antony  whistles  softly  to  himself;  Cleopatra 
sighs  and  smiles  faintly ;  the  boys  raise  a  hearty 
chorus,  which  has  unhappily  not  been  pre- 
served to  us,  and  so  they  enter  the  deep  haven, 
furl  the  sails  and  store  them  in  the  sable  bark ; 
bring  the  mast  to  its  receptacle,  loosing  it 
quickly  by  its  stays;  come  to  the  moorings, 
heave  out  the  sleepers  and  tie  the  hawsers, 
and  then  give  three  lusty  cheers  and  a  tiger, 
and  all  go  up-town  in  a  body  to  conduct  a 
sacred  hecatomb. 

Such  was  the  life  they  led  of  yore,  perhaps ; 
but  now  Samos  is  a  little  land,  quiet  and  pro- 
ductive, crowned  with  grapes  and  yellow  corn, 
and  anointed  with  sweet  oil. 

Think  for  a  moment  of  a  meeting  between  a 
Trireme  of  the  classic  period  and  one  of  our 
modem  mailed-monsters  of  the  deep  I 

Off  yonder.  Iris,  swift  as  the  whirlwind,  half- 
way between  Samos  and  rugged  Imbros, 
plunged  into    the  dark   sea;   and   the   ocean 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      263 


groaned.  Here  is  Icaria  in  the  Icarian  Sea, 
where  Icarus  fell  when  the  sun  softened  his 
waxen  wings,  as  he  flew  out  and  over  from 
Crete. 

And  Scio — Chios — let  us  make  a  libation  to 
Jove!  O  Jove!  Cloud-compelling  son  of 
Saturn!  Olympian  thunderer!  Provident 
Jove !  Is  this  not  the  cradle  of  him  who  sang 
of  your  unhappy  family  perched  upon 
many-peaked  Olympus,  so  that 
for  all  your  wranglings  you 
were  indeed  godlike? 

Homer!      Every  li 
his   breaks    1 
a  resoundi 
wave ;     there 
the 


aJ^ 


264      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

tlie  sea  in  it,  and  the  strong  swell  of  the  tide. 
Would  the  ever-existing  gods  have  given  color 
to  our  lives  but  for  him,  I  wonder?  And  he, 
at  whose  beck  the  Immortals  plunged  from 
splendid  Olympus  into  the  profound  sea — 
hateful  darkness  seized  him,  black  death  over- 
shadowed him. 

Thou  far-seeing  son  of  Saturn,  seated  on 
lofty  Gargarus,  encircled  round  with  an 
odoriferous  cloud,  didst  thou  order  mourning 
for  forty  days  in  thy  court  when  the  blind  old 
man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle  went  down  to  shame- 
less death? 

Now  must  we  search  in  vain  for  his  shrine 
who  possessed  the  most  royal  of  the  distin- 
guished gifts  of  the  gods — a  gift  he  left  richer 
and  more  distinguished  than  when  he  first 
received  it.  But  for  him,  thou  fickle  and  fool- 
ish god,  because  of  thy  childish  pranks  and  the 
folly  of  thy  crew,  the  world  would  quake 
with  inextinguishable  laughter!  Through  the 
olive,  citron,  and  mastic  groves  of  Scio,  the 
shade  of  Homer  drifts.  Let  us  embark  a  heca- 
tomb; let  us  apply  the  iron  strength  of  fire, 
that  the  savor  of  lambs  and  unblemished  goats 
may  ascend  to  snowy  Olympus  and  salute  the 
nostrils  of  the  gods  derisively ;  they  have  done 
ill  by  him  who  did  well  by  them,  for  his  name 
is  worthiest  to  shine  among  the  glorious  stars. 

Beyond   Scio    is    Lesbos  —  Mytilene  —  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       265 

birthplace  of  the  Lesbian  Sappho.  Our  pleas- 
ure voyage  here  suffers  a  break,  which  is, 
however,  temporary.  We  shut  Homer  be- 
tween finger  and  thumb,  keeping  a  digit  on  the 
last  line,  and  turn  our  hearts  to  the  gods  who 
have  stirred  up  the  elements  to  our  discom- 
fiture. These  placid  seas  are  swept  by  sudden 
winds,  bitter  cold,  charged  with  sleet,  and 
bent  on  destruction.  A  capital  place  this 
for  a  general  smash-up  of  navies;  islands  on 
every  side,  strong  sea  currents  rushing  between 
them;  fleets  of  merchantmen  tacking  hither 
and  thither,  now  hidden  by  a  headland,  anon 
coming  suddenly  into  view,  close  at  hand  and 
perhaps  bearing  down  upon  us  wing  and  wing; 
the  steamer  must  turn  out  for  each  and  all  of 
these  flying  sails,  and  some  of  the  turns  are 
pretty  sharp  ones. 

We  were  basking  in  a  delicious  twilight  when 
the  gale  struck  us;  sea  and  sky  were  charged 
with  color ;  we  floated  in  a  flood  of  wine,  under 
a  canopy  of  roses.  Instantaneously  the  heav- 
ens opened,  and  all  the  winds  sprang  at  us  like 
wild  beasts ;  it  was  as  if  we  were  about  to  be 
torn  to  pieces  and  scattered  broadcast  over 
the  rocky  waste. 

The  decks  were  cleared  for  action ;  every  one 
leaped  out  of  the  easy  chair  in  which  he  had 
been  crouched  the  whole  day  long;  hats  went 
overboard;   shawls  fluttered  in  the  wind  like 


266      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

banners ;  scarfs  and  kerchiefs  floated  in  the  air ; 
naught  but  the  sound  of  hurrying  feet  and  the 
screams  of  women  were  heard  above  the  crash 
of  elements. 

We  turned  in  uneasily;  the  Diana  was 
heavily  laden.  A  whole  harem,  booked  for  a 
deck  passage  to  Constantinople,  was  stored  aft, 
just  under  my  cabin  window.  I  had  seen  the 
faces  of  these  women,  who,  swathed  to  the  eyes 
in  ample  wrappings,  forgot  themselves  in  the 
placid  hours  of  the  afternoon,  and  thought- 
lessly revealed  more  of  their  features  than  the 
law  allows.  I  had  even  stolen  a  glance  at 
their  proud  lips ;  their  full,  pale,  olive  cheeks ; 
their  slumberous  eyes  veiled  in  shadow-fringed 
lids;  their  fine  aquiline  noses  with  nostrils 
such  as  eastern  poets  sing  of  in  their  brilliant 
hyperbole — it  is  all  one  to  them  whether  it  be 
houri  or  lustrous-eyed,  pink-nostriled  mare  of 
the  desert:  but  I  was  discovered;  the  merry 
wives  turned  on  me  a  look  of  scorn,  and  all  the 
heads  were  hastily  covered  amid  shrieks  of 
horror  such  as  only  the  ladies  of  the  harem 
have  brought  to  the  pitch  of  dramatic  perfec- 
tion. 

Well !  While  the  wind  blew  and  the  waves 
rose,  I  lay  in  my  narrow  bunk  and  said  the 
rosary  of  agonies  over  and  over,  for  I  hate  to 
be  knocked  about  in  a  box  of  a  stateroom. 
The  ship  behaved  nobly,  rising  easily  on  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     267 

tremendous  swell  and  taking  headers  like  a 
huge  porpoise.  By  and  by  the  harem  lifted  up 
its  voice  and  wept;  babes  moaned  piteously; 
mothers  sobbed  and  implored  Allah.  In  this 
extremity  we  fled  into  Lesbos  and  hid  for  four 
mortal  hours  under  the  lea  of  the  land. 

There  was  no  sleep  that  night.  The  air  was 
fraught  with  terror,  and  when  the  gale  was 
highest,  and  the  long  roll  of  the  thunder  made 
our  good  ship  shudder  in  her  watery  bed,  I 
fancied  I  could  hear  the  crashing  of  ill-fated 
barks  as  they  were  hurled  upon  the  horrible 
rocks  about  us,  or  dashed  together  in  the 
blackly-boiling  waters  and  swallowed  in 
abysmal  depths. 

The  morning  after  the  storm,  being  again 
under  way ,  we  sat  about  the  deck,  silently 
regarding  one  another.  Many  and  various 
were  my  fellow-voyagers.  There  was  a 
haughty  Greek  patriarch,  who  played  with  his 
beads,  letting  them  click  one  after  another  as 
they  slid  down  the  silken  thread  which  con- 
fined them.  There  was  a  babyish  Count,  and 
a  stiff  Pole,  also  reputed  to  be  of  noble  birth ;  a 
fat  and  jolly  Englishman,  and  a  stiflE  and 
bristling  one, — the  latter  with  a  piping  child- 
wife,  whose  hair  streamed  down  her  back  in  a 
yellow  torrent;  there  was  an  ice-cold  univer- 
salist  who  buttoned  his  coat  to  his  chin,  and 
whistled  "Annie  Laurie"  very  softly,  by  the 


268     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


hour ;  and  a  nervous  little  New  Zealander  who 
has  been  everywhere  two  or  three  times,  and 
is  going  over  the  whole  round  forever  and  ever, 
like  the  hour-hand  of  a  clock.  We  picked  up 
strangers  at  the  several  ports  we  visited,  and 
nearly  always  looked  upon  them  as  intruders ; 
and  such  they  were  in  many  cases;  for  they 
sat  in  our  chairs  and  crowded  us  out  of  our 
places  in  the  coolest  manner  possible. 

I  turn  again  to  my  notes  to  find  this  record : 
'*Just  now  a  rabbit-faced  man,  with  protruding 
globulous  eyes  has  taken  a  seat  opposite  me. 
He  is  frequently  abstracted,  and  looks  like  a 
maniac  as  he  loses  himself  in  thought  and  lets 
his  eyes  roll  out  on  his  cheek-bones.  I  glance 
up  in  search  of  a  word,  detect  him  in  one  of  his 
trances,  feel  guilty,  turn  from  the  table  to  stare 
out  of  the  window,  and  there  dis- 
cover a  white  city  glowing  among 
delicious  gfroves  of  cypress  on  the 
shore  of  a  fair  island.  Thus  life 
drifts  away  with  us  through  all  the 
pages  of  Homer,  while  we  roll 
[among  the  dashing  waves  of  the 
A  ^gean  Sea." 
w\.  One  or  two  Greek  professors 

/\    — or  rather  professors  of  Greek 
— are  in  a  state   of  siege.     We 
apply  to  them  continually  and, 
)  \  as  is  not  unfrequently  the  case, 


THE  RABBIT-FACED   MAN. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      269 

find  them  dumb  without  their  text-books.  All 
the  vexed  questions  are  tossed  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  until  the  whole  subject  has  been  worn 
to  shreds  and  scattered  to  the  four  winds. 

Over  our  larboard  quarter  lie  divine  Lemnos, 
Imbros,  and  Tenedos ;  before  us  is  the  Helles- 
pont, and  there  is  the  Troad.  Speed  us,  thou 
of  the  silver  bow,  who  nightly  rulest  over 
Tenedos!  Here,  beneath  us,  is  the  ample 
cave  in  the  recesses  of  the  deep  sea,  between 
Tenedos  and  rugged  Imbros,  where  earth- 
shaking  Neptune  loosed  his  horses,  cast  beside 
them  ambrosial  fodder,  threw  golden  fetters 
about  their  feet,  irrefragable,  indissoluble,  and 
departed  toward  the  army  of  the  Greeks. 

There  is  a  report  current  in  the  ship  that  we 
shall  not  be  permitted  to  pass  the  Hellespont ; 
that  if  we  succeed  in  this,  there  will  be  no 
landing  at  Constantinople ;  in  any  case,  danger 
threatens  us  on  every  hand.  Shall  we  put 
back?  is  the  question.  Certainly  not!  As  of 
old,  when  the  well-greaved  Greeks  were  turned 
afresh  upon  the  lofty-gated  Troy  they  grew 
doughty  in  the  din  of  battle,  so  with  us :  war 
or  the  rumors  of  war,  became  instantly 
sweeter  than  to  return  in  the  hollow  ship  to 
our  dear  native  land.  On  we  move,  over  the 
broad  back  of  the  deep.  To  our  right  is  a  low, 
gray  plain,  a  picture  of  desolation.  Mountains 
rise  in  the  distance,   colorless  and  bare.      A 

18 


2  7©     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

channel  opens  before  us ;  it  is  about  five  miles 
broad  at  the  mouth ;  poor  villages  and  forts  dot 
the  shore  on  either  hand ;  fleets  of  boats  blow 
hither  and  thither  in  a  chopping  sea.  The 
current  is  very  strong,  so  is  the  wind.  We 
draw  our  wraps  closely  about  us,  shut  our 
books  and  maps  to  keep  them  from  flying  over- 
board, and  turn  our  attention  to  the  progress 
of  the  ship. 

Personally,  I  find  nothing  lovely_or  interest- 
ing in  the  scene ;  on  the  contrary,  it  seems  to 
me  uncommonly  bleak  and  stupid.  The  shores 
are  irregular,  bare  and  brown;  we  cross  and 
recross  from  side  to  side,  like  a  huge  ferry- 
boat, dropping  a  boat-load  of  passengers  at  one 
port,  taking  up  a  few  at  the  next.  Rather 
dull  work  this,  though  we  are  detained  only  a 
few  minutes  at  each  stopping-place,  and  these 
intervals  are  enlivened  by  the  advent  of 
numerous  natives  who  importune  us  to  buy 
their  pottery;  they  bring  earthen  vases  and 
rude  toys  moulded  in  clay ;  bits  of  metal  work 
of  dubious  date,  and  enough  rubbish  to  distract 
a  traveler  who  has  not  been  out  of  his  valise 
for  months;  yet  he  covets  a  toy  horse  done  in 
terra-cotta,  ludicrously  fashioned  and  spotted 
over  with  paint.  This  is  offered  as  a  souvenir 
of  the  "Odyssey."  Who  would  not  bring  a 
trophy  from  the  shores  of  Troy? 

There  is  no  spot  in  the  world  more  interest- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      271 

ing  to  the  classical  student  than  this  dreary- 
waste.  We  are  in  the  Dardanelles,  the  Helles- 
pont !  Leander  swam  it ;  so  did  Byron ;  so  do 
we — ^in  a  ship !  That  bleak  plain  is  the  very 
fertile  Troad.  Somewhere  within  its  borders 
is  buried  wind-swept  Ilium.  O  wise  Homer! 
who  spared  not  that  city  for  all  its  pomp ! 

Almost  with  laughter  we  study  the  howling 
wilderness  where  stood  the  wide-wayed  Troy; 
it  is  a  wilderness,  and  it  howls  as  we  steam  to 
and  fro,  touching  along  its  shores  from  time  to 
time.  Up  yonder  is  many-rilled  Ida.  Do  you 
remember  how  sleep  sat  in  a  lofty  fir  on  Ida, 
covered  with  branches  like  a  shrill  bird? 

There,  on  the  one  hand,  is  Asia,  and  here, 
on  the  other,  is  Europe;  the  channel  that 
divides  them  bristles  with  cannon;  they  hold 
their  peace  at  present,  but  they  are  ready  at 
a  moment's  warning  to  spit  fire  and  to  deluge 
the  earth  with  blood,  even  as  it  was  deluged 
when  Mars,  the  man-slayer,  the  gore-stained 
stormer  of  walls;  and  Ulysses,  the  sacker  of 
cities;  the  horse-breaking  Trojans;  the  hair- 
tufted  Thracians,  and  all  the  gods,  made  it  hot 
in  the  vicinity  of  well-turreted  Troy . 

Imagine  a  hero,  clothed  in  dazzling  brass, 
strutting  and  fuming  among  his  soldiers, 
athirst  for  blood  and  glory  as  he  thus  addresses 
them:  "Pile  up  for  him  a  tomb  on  the  wide 
Hellespont,  and  thereafter  will  some  one  of  the 


272     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


future  men  say,  as  he  sails  over  the  sea  in  his 
many-benched  ship,  'This  indeed  is  the  tomb 
of  a  hero  long  since  deceased,  whom  once, 
bearing  himself  doughtily,  illustrious  Hector 
slew.'" 

I  did  not  hear  it  remarked  in  our  many- 
benched  ship,  save  by  the  Professor 
who  has  a  finger  on  the  passage 
at  this  moment;  but  times  have 
changed  since  then. 

What  days  were  those  when  the 

warriors  came  in  from  the  sea  and 

forty  dark  ships  followed — recruits 

from  the  isles  that  lie  as  far  as  the 

eye   can  reach;    some  in   red-sided 

ships,    some    in    sable   and  curved 

ships,  from  steed-nourishing  Argos, 

and  from  all  the  sunset  lands ;  each 

fleet    with    its   admiral    and  its 

^«»^clear-voiced  heralds,    and    forty 

dark  ships  following! 

From  the  deck  of  the    Diana 

we  try  to  trace  the  field  where 

thunder  -  delighting    Jove  —  he 

must  have  been  somewhat  of  a 

bore  as  to  his  noise — watched  the 

waving-crested     Greeks    in    the 

game  of  battle.   We  try  to  mark  where 

Mars  ran  along  Simois  over  Callico- 

lona,  between  Troy  and  the  seacoast ; 


A  PROFESSOR   OF   GREEK. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      273 

to  follow  the  course  of  the  fairly-flowing  river, 
the  deep-edd3ring  Xanthus,  Jove-begotten;  to 
conjure  the  shades  of  swift-footed  Achilles, 
Jove-sprung  son  of  Peleus;  of  much-counseling 
Ulysses;  of  helm-nodding  Hector,  fair-haired 
Helen,  laughter-loving  Venus,  and  all  those 
beauteous  girt  women !  We  strive  to  see — in 
our  mind's  eye,  of  course — the  huge  bulk  of 
the  seven-sided  shield  of  Ajax,  the  glance  of 
impetuous  Achilles'  spear  of  Pelian  ash, 
and  to  hear  the  noble  Achilles  grieving,  for 
he  was  sending  a  blameless  companion  to 
Hades. 

It  didn't  seem  to  matter  much  how  many  fel- 
lows satiated  the  swift  dogs  at  Troy  with  their 
white  fat,  so  long  as  they  were  not  personal 
friends.  We  hope  to  hear,  also,  the  tramp  of 
high-necked  steeds,  nourished  on  lotos  and 
lake-fed  parsley,  as  they  print  the  ground  with 
their  solid  hoofs — ^but  all  this  is  mere  fantasy ! 

Troy  is  no  longer  a  city  of  articulate-speaking 
men ;  nor  is  it  likely  that  we  shall  ever  know 
more  of  it  than  we  have  learned  from  Homer. 

Dr.  Henry  Schliemann's  explorations  and 
revelations  prove  nothing  that  has  not  been 
known  since  Homer's  time,  namely,  that  the 
Troad  was  inhabited,  that  the  people  and  the 
cities  have  perished;  that  in  all  respects  they 
were,  both  people  and  cities,  much  like  other 
people  and  other  cities. 


274      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Mr.  Gladstone  in  his  "Homeric  Synchron- 
ism" upholds  the  Doctor  in  his  dreams  of  Troy. 
Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  has  proved,  or  is 
likely  to  prove  beyond  question,  that  the  His- 
sarlik  Mount  is  the  site  of  ancient  Troy.  Sir 
William  Cell's  "Geography  of  the  Troad"  will, 
if  they  choose  to  consult  it,  set  these  gentlemen 
right  on  certain  important  points.  Mr.  Glad- 
stone rushes  at  the  conclusions  offered  him  by 
Dr.  Schliemann,  and  the  two  seem  to  have 
settled  affairs  entirely  to  their  own  satisfaction. 
Yet,  Dr.  Schliemann,  who  is  seeking  to  identify 
the  Ilium  of  Homer  with  nothing  more  sub- 
stantial to  base  his  judgment  on  than  a  few 
pieces  of  metal  work  and  a  good  deal  of  earthen 
rubbish,  does  not  hesitate  to  adjust  his  geo- 
graphical outline  according  to  his  requirements, 
and  to  correct  Homer,  as  is  necessary,  in  order 
to  prove  his  case. 

Dr.  Schliemann  is  not  merely  seeking  to 
prove  that  he  has  unearthed  a  long  buried  city 
— there  is  no  doubt  as  to  that  fact — but  he 
insists  that  it  is  the  veritable  city  of  Homer's 
song,  and  offers  as  evidence  the  relics  that  have 
been  discovered  during  his  excavations.  Is  this 
not  the  dream  of  an  enthusiast? 

You  will  remember  that  Homer,  in  the 
seventh  book  of  the  Iliad,  after  the  battle,  tells 
how  the  long-haired  Greeks  built  a  wall  and 
lofty  towers,  a  bulwark  of  their  ships  and  of 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       275 

themselves.  Neptune  complains  to  Father 
Jove,  and  Jove  replies: 

"When  the  crest-waving  Greeks  shall  have 
departed  with  their  ships  into  their  dear  father- 
land, do  thou,  overthrowing  this  wall,  sink  it 
all  into  the  deep,  and  again  cover  the  great 
shore  with  sand.  Thus  may  this  mighty  ram- 
part of  the  Greeks  be  wholly  effaced. ' ' 

We  read  in  the  beginning  of  Book  XII. 
that: 

"In  the  tenth  year  the  city  of  Priam  was 
sacked,  and  the  Greeks  went  in  their  ships  to 
their  dear  fatherland;  then,  at  length,  Neptune 
and  Apollo  took  counsel  to  demolish  the  wall, 
introducing  the  strength  of  rivers,  as  many  as 
flow  into  the  sea  from  the  Idaean  Mountains. 
.  .  .  The  mouths  of  all  these  Phoebus 
Apollo  turned  to  the  same  spot,  and  for  nine 
days  he  directed  their  streams  against  the  wall. 
Jove,  in  the  meantime,  rained  continually  that 
he  might  the  sooner  render  the  walls  over- 
whelmed by  the  sea.  .  .  .  And  he  (Neptune, 
the  earth-shaker)  made  all  level  along  the  rapid 
Hellespont,  and  again  covered  the  vast  shore 
with  sand,  having  demolished  the  wall;  but 
then  he  turned  the  rivers  to  go  back  into  their 
own  channels  in  which  they  had  formerly 
poured  their  sweet-flowing  waters." 

When  we  bear  in  mind  that  the  very  site  of 
Troy  was  forgotten   after   the  fall;   that  the 


276      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

country  was  colonized  by  .^Eolians  and  other 
races ;  that  these  cities  and  peoples  have  passed 
away  in  turn,  and  that  the  Troad  was  only 
retained  in  history  because  it  lay  in  the  track 
of  the  invading  armies  crossing  the  Hellespont 
from  side  to  side,  is  it  natural  to  suppose,  after 
so  many  and  such  various  vicissitudes,  that  the 
foundations  of  the  ancient  Ilium  should  be  laid 
open,  relics  discovered,  houses  and  tombs 
identified,  and  all  this  in  opposition  to  certain 
lines  in  the  Iliad — our  earliest  history  of  Troy 
— which  point  to  a  difiEerent  site  from  that  fixed 
upon  by  Dr.  Schliemann? 

Do  we  not  read  in  the  eighth  book  of  the 
Odyssey  how  Demodocus,  the  bard,  sang  of  the 
sons  of  the  Greeks  who  destroyed  the  city 
(Ilium),  being  poured  forth  from  the  horse, 
having  left  the  hollow  ambush?  One  laid 
waste  the  city  in  one  way  and  another  in 
another — so  runs  the  song. 

Then  Virgil,  in  the  second  and  third  books  of 
the  ^neid,  adds  his  testimony : 

"But  the  gods,  the  unrelenting  gods,  over- 
threw this  powerful  realm  and  leveled  the 
towering  tops  of  Troy  with  the  ground.  .  . 
Here,  where  you  see  scattered  ruins,  and 
stones  torn  from  stones,  and  smoke  in  waves 
ascending  with  mingled  dust,  Neptune  shakes 
the  walls  and  foundations,  loosened  by  his 
mighty  trident,  and  overturns  the  whole  city 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       277 

from  its  basis.  .  .  .  Then,  indeed,  all 
Ilium  seemed  to  me  at  once  to  sink  in  the 
flames,  and  Troy,  built  by  Neptune,  to  be 
overturned  from  the  lowest  foundations," 

The  truth  is,  we  are  trying — or  the  specula- 
tive Doctor  is  trying — to  excavate  a  city 
founded  by  the  gods  and  once  peopled  by 
mythical  heroes;  can  anything  be  less  prac- 
tical, less  profitable?  Having  cast  our  eyes 
over  the  nakedness  of  the  land,  we  turn  our 
thoughts  to  the  future;  joy  cometh  with  the 
morning — a  sunrise  over  the  golden  Horn, 
under  the  gardens  of  Stamboul ! 

It  is  more  quiet  this  evening;  the  winds 
went  down  with  the  sun,  even  as  the  winds 
departed  homeward  returning  through  the 
Thracian  Sea  with  its  groaning  billows,  after 
having  fed  the  fires  that  consumed  the  manes 
of  Patroclus  amid  the  bewailing  Greeks.  Some 
one  has  been  gfiving  a  gratuitous  dissertation 
on  the  events  of  the  day,  while  I  busy  myself 
with  these  notes  in  a  corner  of  the  salon;  then 
some  one  also  sighs  deeply — I  look  up  to  find 
the  listeners  listless  and  the  speaker  dumb; 
for,  lo!  ambrosial  slumber  is  diffused  around. 

At  at  early  hour,  while  we  swim  the  Mar- 
mora like  a  black  swan,  I  seek  my  room-mate, 
a  jolly,  blonde  English  lad,  known  to  everybody 
as  "The  Eton  Boy."  He  rushes  everywhere, 
sees    everything   in  a  wild  state  of  delight. 


278     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

writes  up  his  journal  nightly — though  for  the 
most  part  his  entries  are  copied  from  my  loose 
notes  borrowed  for  the  occasion.  To  him  life 
is  fresh  and  sweet,  the  world  his  play-ground, 
and  on  his  well  turned  biceps  he  bears  the 
arms  of  Eton  tattooed  in  a  Jerusalem  bazaar. 
What  more  can  one  ask  of  a  beneficent  Provi- 
dence when  one  has  youth,  health,  hope,  and 
when  one  sleeps  like  a  school-boy  through 
tempest  and  tribulation,  as  he  did  the  other 
night  of  storm? — slept  with  his  head  pillowed 
on  his  elbow,  the  arms  of  Eton  still  visible  in 
the  dim  light  of  our  cosy  cabin,  and  his  bare 
feet  thrust  into  the  side-light  above  his  berth, 
as  if,  like  a  young  Hercules,  he  had  half  a 
mind  to  kick  out  the  ribs  of  the  ship. 


XI. 


STAMBOUL. 

All  night  we  wallowed  in  the  troubled  sea  of 
Marmora,  and  came  too  early  in  the  morning 
upon  the  famous  beauty  of  the  Bosporus.  I 
was  wakened  at  6.00  a.  m.  by  the  sudden 
ceasing  of  the  internal  thunders  one  g^ows  so 
used  to  when  steaming  over  the  sea;  and, 
looking  out  of  the  sublime  port  in  the  upper 
bunk,  I  saw — not  a  vision  of  Oriental  splendor, 
but  only  a  London  fog  on  a  Thames  shore,  and 
so  I  turned  in  again. 

But  not  for  long.  You  know  the  symptoms 
of  a  general  break-up,  that  grow  more  and 
more  violent  the  nearer  you  approach  the  land. 
Coffee  was  scarcely  tasted;  everybody  was 
plotting  with  his  neighbor,  and  in  the  midst  of 
this  hopeless  confusion  we  entered  the  mouth 
of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  were  instantly 
boarded  by  swarms  of  boatmen  and  commis- 
sioners. 

Selecting  our  man,  we   took    hold  of     one 

another's  hands   and  cast  ourselves  over  the 

bulwarks    into  a   barge  that  tossed  alongside 

the  Diana.     It  was  a  good  shot :  we  struck  in 

the  hold  of  the  barge;  cried  aloud  in  chorus 
279 


28o      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

and  wrung  our  hands,  until  all  our  luggage 
was  delivered  up  into  the  care  of  our  drago- 
man, and  then  we  set  out  for  shore — the  Euro- 
pean shore,  which  lay  about  two  hundred 
yards  distant. 

The  Turks  received  us  with  more  considera- 
tion than  we  had  reason  to  expect.  We  were 
not  hamstrung,  nor  beheaded,  nor  deprived  of 
our  wives  and  children.  All  our  luggage  was 
allowed  to  pass  the  customs  with  the  slightest 
possible  examination.  There  was  but  one 
suspicious  character  on  the  city  front.  One 
man  eyed  us  with  noticeable  caution,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  a  motive  in  his  watchful 
yet  restless  glance.  Presently  he  approached 
us  and  presented  his  card.     It  read  as  follows : 

Far-away  Moses, 

Dealer  in  Rugs,  Embroidery,  and  all  kinds  of 

Oriental  Goods. 

A  few  days  later  we  met  in  the  bazaars, 
where  he  does  the  host  with  much  dignity  and 
no  little  profit.  He  is  a  very  intelligent  man, 
who  speaks  several  languages,  and  vibrates 
between  Constantinople  and  Cairo.  He  is 
sure  to  be  seen  here  or  there  at  the  height  of 
the  tourist  season,  dispensing  sherbet,  coffee 
and  cigarettes,  and  soliciting  patronage  in  a 
fashion  which  is,  to  say  the  least,  magnetic — 
and  yet  the  greater  share  of  his  popularity  is 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     281 


are  better 
serviceable 
h  a  ndsome 


doubtless  due  to  the  notoriety  he  has  achieved 
through  the  pages  of  Mark  Twain's  "Innocents 
Abroad." 

Passing  the  customs  without  a  scar,  we  all 
foot  it  up  an  exceedingly  steep  and  badly 
paved  street  into  Pera,  the  Frank  suburb  of 
Constantinople.  Here  there 
streets,  and  sometimes  very 
sidewalks,  fine  stone  houses, 
stores,  theatres,  caf^s  chan- 
tant,  bootblacks,  carriages, 
glass  arcades,  and,  in 
fact,  everything  you 
would  not  ex-  ^ 
pect  to  find  in 
this  latitude. 
From  the  ho-  C^' 
tel  window  1 1 
look  out  upon 
the  flashing 
waters  of  the 
Golden  Horn, 
and,  crossing 
one  of  the 
bridges  that 

rest  upon  it,  my  eye  is  almost   - 
dazzled    with    the    pomp   of 
Stamboul.      Like     a    harem 
beauty,    she  had  veiled  her 
face  when  we  first  approached 


282      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 


her;  like  a  harem  beauty,  we  have  no  sooner 
turned  away  from  her  than  she  withdraws  her 
yashmack  of  mist  and  reveals  to  our  delighted 
eyes  her  unrivaled  loveliness. 

Pera  is  very  Frenchy ;  but  there  is  no  need 
of  coming  to  Turkey  to  enjoy  a  cheap  edition 
of  Paris,  so  we  at  once  gird  on  our  armor  and 
set  forth  for  Stamboul — Galata,  the  Frank 
business  quarter  of  Constantinople,  lies  on  the 
Golden  Horn  opposite  Stamboul.  Pera  is  just 
above  Galata,  at  the  top  of  a  very  steep  hill. 
The  Bosporus  flows  past  Galata  and  Stamboul, 
across  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and 
separates  Europe  from  Asia.  We  are  in 
V  Europe ;  you  would  naturally  suppose  so 
when  you  walk  the  streets  and  come 
to  an  underground 
_3  railway,  that  shoots 
■}y,    you  down  an  inclined 


shaft  from 

Pera  to  Gal- 

~      ata  in  about 

three    minutes    and  a 

half.     There  is  a  whirl 

of     business     in    the 


THE   SHORES   OF   THE 
BOSPORUS. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     283 

streets  of  Galata,  The  noise  is  deafening; 
the  street-cars  are  dragged  to  and  fro,  driven 
by  native  drivers,  who  toot  fish-horns  with  as 
much  apparent  pleasure  as  a  child  his  penny 
trumpet. 

We  cross  a  bridge  of  boats  over  the  Golden 
Horn  and  enter  Stamboul.  A  magnificent  iron 
drawbridge  was  erected  at  a  vast  expense  by 
an  English  company  just  above  the  present 
bridge.  When  the  unfortunate  Ab-dul-Aziz — 
whose  favorite  palace  stands  on  the  Bosporus — 
grew  nervous  at  the  demonstrations  of  his 
people,  he  ordered  the  Turkish  fleet  of  iron- 
clads, at  that  time  anchored  in  the  Golden 
Horn  above  the  bridge,  to  be  moored  in  front 
of  his  palace.  Two  of  the  ships,  in  trying  to 
pass  the  drawbridge,  were  so  badly  managed 
that  they  stove  in  a  large  portion  of  the 
bridge,  and  sunk  part  of  it  to  the  bottom  of  the 
Golden  Horn. 

The  Bridge  of  Boats  is  one  of  the  great 
thoroughfares  of  the  world.  It  is  thronged 
continually  with  representatives  of  almost 
every  nation  of  the  globe.  Even  in  Stamboul 
— the  hotbed  of  fanaticism,  where  to  this  hour 
it  is  not  safe  for  a  Frank  to  go  into  the  streets 
at  night — in  Stamboul  the  pavements  ring 
with  the  flying  wheels  of  the  street-cars, 
driven  at  a  reckless  pace — reckless  considering 
the   stupidity,    or  perhaps   I  had    better    say 


284     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

indolence,  or  indifference,  of  the  population 
swarming  under  the  wheels  of  the  car.  Here 
we  pass  into  the  division  of  the  car  allotted  to 
the  men.  There  is  a  separate  corner  for  the 
veiled  women,  who  express  great  disgust  if  a 
man  dares  enter  it. 

From  this  moment  our  eyes  are  never  at 
rest.  Ten  thousand  sights  distract  us — ^the 
fountains,  the  mosques,  the  tombs,  the  courts, 
wherein  a  few  trees  afford  grateful  shade,  and 
where  generally  there  are  half  a  dozen  barbers 
busily  shaving  their  customers — both  barber 
and  the  barbered  squatted  upon  the  ground 
like  frogs.  Your  oriental  barber  hands  you  a 
shallow  brazen  bowl,  with  a  deep  indenture  in 
the  rim.  You  press  your  throat  into  this 
indenture,  hold  the  bowl  under  your  chin,  and 
await  with  what  composure  you  may  the  del- 
uge of  soap  and  water  that  is  sure  to  follow. 
Fancy  a  dozen  victims  crouching  in  a  row 
under  a  mimosa  tree,  each  clutching  his  chin- 
bowl  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  while  the  suds 
streams  from  his  beard  and  a  little  rivulet 
spouts  from  the  point  of  his  nose;  the  barbers 
meanwhile  flourish  their  razors  as  if  they  were 
about  to  decapitate  the  poor  fellows  in  the 
presence  of  an  interested  throng  of  spectators. 
Coffee,  chibouks^  story-tellers,  and  players  upon 
flutes  and  lutes  enliven  the  hours.  This  is  a 
common  spectacle  in  old  Stamboul. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      285 

The  Hippodrome  now  presents  a  dreary 
waste,  strewn  with  dust  and  rubbish.  You 
still  trace  the  plan  of  an  ancient  circus,  900 
feet  in  length,  and  450  in  breadth,  designed  by 
the  Emperor  Severus,  who  left  it  unfinished 
when  he  learned  that  the  Gauls  were  threaten- 
ing Rome.  It  is  written  that  in  the  time  of 
Nicetas  the  images  of  gods  and  heroes,  wrought 
in  brass  and  stone,  that  stood  within  this  hip- 
podrome outnumbered  the  population  of  the 
modern  city.  The  precious  marbles  have  been 
carried  away  by  various  sultans  to  ornament 
palace  and  mosque.  The  bronze  statues,  many 
of  them  masterpieces  of  antiquity,  that  had 
been  preserved  by  the  Christians  against  the 
fanaticism  of  these  iconoclasts,  all,  or  nearly 
all,  were  melted  into  rude  coins ;  and  now  the 
dreary  circus  contains  only  a  single  obelisk  of 
Egyptian  syenite,  the  remains  of  a  pyramid, 
originally  ninety-four  feet  in  height,  and  a 
brazen  column  of  three  twisted  serpents,  which 
Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and  Pausanias  saw  in 
the  Temple  of  Delphi.  It  was  brought  hither 
by  Constantine,  from  the  Forum  of  Arcadius, 
and  has  been  mutilated  by  Mohammed  the 
Conqueror  and  by  other  hands,  so  that  its  his- 
tory alone  makes  it  interesting  to  the  eye. 

The  hundred  and  thirty  baths  and  the  hun- 
dred and  eighty  khans  are  so  like  the  baths  and 
khans  that  are  found  in  the  chief  cities  of  the 

19 


a86      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENi*. 

East,  that  Stamboul  can  hardly  pride  herself 
upon  them.  They  are  one  and  all  forbidding 
when  viewed  from  the  street,  but  within  they 
offer  the  chief  delights  of  the  Levant — deli- 
cious waters  that  cleanse  you  and  babble  to 
you,  pipes  that  tranquilize  you  and  couches 
that  invite  you  to  repose.  These  luxuries 
are  offered  at  so  low  a  rate  that  there  are 
few  who  may  not  enjoy  them.  The  pipe  is 
specially  cheap.  You  bring  your  own  to- 
bacco, of  the  brand  you  most  delight  in,  and 
a  sou's  worth  will  fill  your  nargileh.  The 
nargileh  furnished  you  at  the  caf^  is  lighted 
and  relighted  if  necessary,  and  there  you  sit 
and  smoke  for  a  whole  hour,  or  even  longer,  if 
your  pipe  is  properly  loaded;  and  for  this 
great  happiness  you  pay  the  pipe-boy  two  or 
three  sous.  For  five  sous  you  may  play  the 
gentleman  for  sixty  minutes  in  the  handsomest 
caf^  in  Stamboul. 

Lounging  among  the  shows  in  Stamboul,  it 
is  sometimes  difficult  to  realize  that  you  are  in 
the  famous  capital  of  the  East ;  there  is  a  con- 
tinual stir,  a  low  rumbling,  an  earnest  haste 
that  is  not  characteristic  of  the  Orient.  The 
people  lack  repose.  How  different  is  the 
delicious  silence  of  Damascus!  Cairo,  though 
it  is  Frankified,  seems  more  in  accordance  with 
one's  conception  of  the  languid  and  luxurious 
life  of  the  East. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      287 

Seeking  this  tranquillity,  we  descend  into  the 
cool,  dusky  depths  of  the  Cistern  of  Con- 
stantine,  called  Binbirdirek,  or  the  thousand 
and  one  columns.  The  immense  subterranean 
chamber  is  dry;  and  as  we  stood  among  the 
shadowy  columns,  half  blinded  with  the  eternal 
darkness  of  the  place,  men  and  children  stole 
up  to  us  like  ghosts  and  cried:  '^'Backsheesh!" 
Even  from  the  graves  of  the  earth  comes  that 
continual  wail.  These  gnomes  are  silk- 
twisters,  who  pass  their  lives  in  darkness,  and 
probably  never  get  more  than  one  thin  slice  of 
sunshine  per  day ;  it  falls  in  at  the  small  door 
in  the  roof,  and  this  morsel  has  to  be  divided 
among  many. 

Above  ground  there  are  fragments  of  an 
ancient  aqueduct,  antique  columns  that  once 
bore  aloft  the  statues  of  the  gods,  and  a  sin- 
gular mixture  of  architectural  monuments — 
ancient,  modem.  Eastern,  Western,  and  non- 
descript. There  is  a  "Madame  Toussaud" 
collection  of  shockingly-ugly  effigies,  dressed 
in  cheap  costumes,  and  purporting  to  be  the 
faithful  counterparts  of  the  officers  under  the 
sultan  of  the  ancient  rule:  the  chief  of  the 
janissaries,  the  sultan's  dwarfs,  executioner; 
eunuchs,  black  and  white,  etc.  Many  a  faith- 
ful sight-seer  turns  away  from  this  ridiculous 
exposition,  burdened  with  the  secret  convic- 
tion that  he  has  been  completely  sold. 


288    A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

But  there  are  sights  in  Stamboul — yes,  many 
of  them,  interesting  and  astonishing.  Let  us 
drop  into  the  seraglio.  The  tongue  of  Stam- 
boul is  thrust  into  the  midst  of  the  waters  of 
the  Golden  Horn,  the  Bosporus,  and  the  Sea 
of  Marmora,  It  is  an  oblong  hill,  crowned 
with  white  walls,  domes,  and  minarets,  and 
hedged  about  with  groves  of  black,  funereal 
cypresses.  Here  stands  the  seraglio^  which 
was  for  fifteen  centuries  the  abiding  place  of 
the  Ottoman  Emperors.  It  is  now  used  only 
on  state  occasions,  and  the  palace,  the  courts, 
and  the  innumerable  tenements  that  cover  the 
promontory — the  ground-plan  of  the  seraglio  is 
nearly  three  miles  in  circumference  —  are 
battered,  dusty,  and  out  of  repair. 

The  Sublime  Porte  is  singularly  ugly,  and 
anything  but  sublime.  The  buildings  that 
cluster  about  the  several  courts  have  not,  for 
the  most  part,  the  slightest  pretension  to 
architectural  beauty,  or  even  dignity.  The 
second  court  is  flanked  by  a  row  of  nine 
kitchens,  looking  very  much  like  nine  lime- 
kilns. They  are  domed,  but  without  chim- 
neys, so  the  smoke  passes  out  through  a  hole 
in  the  roof.  Here  the  sultan  and  his  court 
consumed  annually  40,000  oxen;  and  there 
were  daily  brought  to  the  table  200  sheep,  100 
lambs,  10  calves,  200  hens,  200  pairs  of  pul- 
lets, 100  pairs  of  pigeons,  and  50  green  geese. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       289 

The  late  Sultan  Abdul-Aziz  was  accustomed  to 
feeding  his  family  as  bountifully,  and  still  he 
was  not  happy !  In  the  stables  by  the  water 
side  a  thousand  horses  were  formerly  stalled, 
and  among  the  cannon  that  sweep  the  sea  and 
the  mouth  of  the  Bosporus  is  one  huge  old  fel- 
low at  whose  hoarse  voice  Babylon  surrendered 
to  Sultan  Murad. 

The  chief  attraction  of  the  seraglio  is  the 
treasury.  Here,  in  a  chamber  by  no  means 
large,  is  gathered  treasures  such  as  one  reads 
of  in  tales  of  genii.  The  actual  value  of  this 
store  of  jewels  is  almost  beyond  conception. 
Each  sultan  seeks  to  exceed  his  predecessors  in 
the  richness  of  his  additions  to  the  collection, 
and  the  result  is  a  dazzling  but  not  very 
impressive  array  of  theatrical-looking  proper- 
ties, that  might  just  as  well  be  made  of  glass 
and  tinsel — the  effect  upon  the  spectator  would 
be  as  pleasing.  Picture  to  yourself  a  carpet 
crusted  with  pearls,  many  of  them  as  large  as 
sparrows'  eggs ;  a  throne  of  gold,  frosted  with 
pearls ;  draperies  for  the  horses  ridden  by  the 
sultans,  embroidered  with  pearls  and  rubies; 
a  cradle  coated  with  precious  stones;  inlaid 
armor,  jeweled  helmets,  sword-hilts — one  of 
these  is  decorated  with  fifteen  diamonds,  each 
one  as  large  as  the  top  of  a  man's  thumb; 
coffee  trays  of  ebony,  with  a  double  row  of 
enormous  diamonds  set  close  together;   pipe- 


290     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Stems,  nargilehs,  sword-belts,  caskets,  and 
bushels  of  necklaces  of  the  most  splendid 
description,  heaped  together  in  glass  show- 
cases, and  flashing  like  fireflies  in  the  dark. 
The  most  costly  article  in  the  treasury  is  a 
toilet  table  of  lapis  lazuli,  and  other  valuable 
materials,  richly  inlaid  with  precious  stones  of 
every  description.  The  pillars  that  support 
the  mirror  are  set  with  diamonds;  the  stem 
and  claws  of  the  table  are  covered  with 
diamonds,  emeralds,  rubies,  carbuncles,  etc. ; 
along  the  edge  of  the  table  hangs  a  deep 
fringe  of  diamonds,  with  immense  solitaire 
tassels.     The  whole  is  a  gorgeous — bore. 

Multitudes  of  attendants  are  stationed 
through  the  apartment,  and  you  may  be  sure 
that  you  are  never  left  for  a  second  unobserved 
by  these  watchful  guardians  of  the  treasure- 
house.  How  little  faith  has  the  infidel  in  the 
honesty  of  his  believing  brother! 

What  a  relief  it  is  to  withdraw  into  the 
Kiosk  of  Bagdad — the  private  library  of  the 
sultan — to  sit  within  eight  walls  that  close 
about  you  like  the  exquisite  panels  of  an  ivory 
or  tortoise-shell  fan,  under  a  dome  of  rose-tint 
and  gold  mosaic;  and,  shutting  the  doors  of 
bronze,  inlaid  with  pearls,  against  the  world, 
one  realizes,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  how  pleasant  a  thing  it  is  to  be  poor  but 
honest!    On  the  shelves  of  the  library  there 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     291 

are  several  codices  brought  from  the  collection 
of  King  Matthias  Corvinus  at  Buda,  and  there 
are  dainty  rolls  and  folios  of  parchment  laid 
away,  each  in  its  separate  case,  and  all  looking 
very  much  as  if  they  were  not  often  disturbed. 

From  the  Kiosk  of  Bagdad  it  is  pleasant  to 
look  down  into  the  deep  garden  of  the  houris, 
sloping  to  the  swift  Bosporus,  and  to  meditate 
on  the  lights  of  the  harem  that  have  suddenly 
gone  out  forever,  quenched  in  that  fatal  flood ; 
but,  thinking  on  the  stifled  cries  and  the  slimy 
shrouds  dragged  down  into  the  pitiless  deep,  it 
is  still  pleasanter  to  rise  superior  to  the  situa- 
tion, fee  the  custodian,  and  thank  Heaven  that 
you  are  not  a  houri. 

The  City  of  the  Sultan  has  three  Sundays  in 
the  week,  so  also  have  most  of  the  cities  of  the 
East.  One  observes  this  to  a  striking  degree 
in  the  bazaars  and  market-places.  On  Friday 
your  Moslem  goes  to  mosque ;  he  shuts  up  shop 
and  gives  himself  to  prayer  and  meditation,  to 
coffee  and  the  nargileh,  among  the  tombs  of 
his  ancestors  or  on  the  shores  of  the  Sweet 
Waters.  On  Saturday,  which  is  the  Sabbath, 
the  Jews  put  up  their  shutters,  visit  the  syna- 
gogue, and  enjoy  the  gossip  of  the  caf^s.  On 
Sunday  the  Christians  go  to  Mass,  and  seek 
rational  recreation  in  their  best  clothes  there- 
after; so  that  for  three  days  the  business  of 
the  town  is  somewhat  checked. 


292     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

The  mosques  are  never  crowded ;  people  are 
continually  coming  and  going,  dropping  their 
slippers  at  the  threshold,  and  advancing  in 
their  stocking-feet  toward  the  prayer-niche, 
where  they  prostrate  themselves,  stand,  kneel, 
turn  their  heads  to  right  and  left,  and  raise 
their  hands  in  a  fashion  that  is  so  mechanical 
one  can  hardly  keep  serious  until  the  sight  has 
ceased  to  be  a  novelty. 

There  are  mosques  in  Stamboul  that  rival  St. 
Sophia  in  magnitude  and  splendor.  The 
Mosque  of  Suleiman  is  considered  one  of  the 
most  glorious  monuments  of  Osmanli  architec- 
ture. The  court  facing  the  entrance  is  bor- 
dered on  three  sides  by  colonnades  supporting 
three-and-twenty  exquisitely-fashioned  domes. 
A  fountain  with  a  cupola  stands  in  the  centre 
of  the  court ;  the  minarets  spring  from  the  four 
comers  of  an  outer  court.  The  effect  is  sin- 
gularly chaste  and  elegant.  Attached  to  this 
mosque  are  numerous  endowments — three 
schools,  four  academies  for  the  four  sects  of 
the  faithful,  and  another  for  the  reading  of  the 
Koran,  a  school  of  medicine,  a  hospital,  a 
kitchen  for  the  poor,  a  resting-place  for  travel- 
ers, a  library,  a  fountain,  a  house  of  refuge 
for  strangers,  and  a  mausoleum.  Several  of 
the  imperial  mosques  are  as  richly  endowed. 
Mohammedan  charity  begins  at  mosque,  and 
all  good  Mussulmans  are  very  much  at  home  in 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       293 

their  houses  of  prayer.  The  fourteen  great 
mosques  are  built  upon  the  self-same  plan. 
They  measure  225x205  feet,  and  are  inclosed 
on  the  entrance  side  by  a  forecourt,  and  in  the 
rear  by  a  garden,  or  cemetery. 

Beside  these  imperial  mosques  there  are 
about  220  others,  built  by  individuals  of  in- 
ferior rank,  and  300  or  more  chapels,  some  of 
which  are  chiefly  frequented  by  women.  The 
Doves'  Mosque,  or  the  Mosque  of  Bajazet  II. 
in  Stamboul,  has  for  me  a  special  charm.  The 
building  was  completed  in  1505.  The  court  is 
exceedingly  beautiful.  You  enter  by  gates 
elaborately  decorated  in  arabesque ;  the  cloister 
that  surrounds  the  court  is  inclosed  by  a  range 
of  columns  of  porphyry  and  verd-antique,  with 
capitals  of  white  marble  ornamented  in  ara- 
besque. In  the  centre  of  the  court  is  a  marble 
fountain  under  a  canopy,  and  sheltered  by  a 
cluster  of  fine  trees.  As  you  enter  the  court 
you  hear  the  roar  of  wings,  and  for  a  moment 
the  air  is  darkened  with  the  sudden  flight  of 
myriads  of  doves.  These  birds,  the  offspring 
of  a  pair  purchased  from  a  poor  woman  by 
Sultan  Bajazet,  and  presented  to  the  mosque, 
are  as  sacred  as  was  the  ibis  of  old.  A  grave 
and  reverend  fellow,  with  a  huge  turban,  sits 
under  the  cloister,  and  sells  grain  to  the  faith- 
ful and  the  fickle.  The  former  feed  the 
doves  for  charity ;  the  latter,  for  fun. 


294     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

While  the  fountain  is  knee-deep  with  swarm- 
ing birds,  and  the  trees  clogged  with  them,  and 
all  the  eaves  of  the  cloister  lined,  and  even  the 
high  galleries  of  the  slender  minarets  not 
imvisited  by  these  feathered  dervishes,  you 
throw  a  handful  of  wheat  into  the  court,  and, 
like  a  thunder-cloud,  the  whole  tribe  swoops 
upon  you  with  the  rush  and  the  roar  of  a 
storm.  They  crowd  one  another,  and  heap 
themselves  together,  and  stand  on  their  heads 
in  their  eagerness  to  get  a  morsel  of  grain.  In 
a  moment  some  one  enters  the  court,  and  the 
birds  take  flight,  stirring  the  wind  in  the 
cloister,  and  filling  the  air  with  soft-floating 
down.  I  almost  envy  the  placid  pleasure  that 
the  granger  in  the  turban  takes ;  for  his  way  is 
easy  and  his  burden  light,  and  those  doves  are 
such  delightful  absurdities!  There  is  his 
neighbor,  against  the  next  column,  who  sells 
rosaries  and  perfumes;  and  there  is  also  the 
fellow  at  the  gate  who  cries  "Sherbet!"  and 
clashes  his  brazen  cups  till  they  ring  like 
cymbals;  and  there  are  loungers  from  dawn  to 
dark,  who  drop  in  to  see  the  doves  of  Bajazet 
plunge  into  the  court  like  an  avalanche  of 
dusky,  impurpled  snow,  and  wheel  out  of  it 
again,  a  winged  cloud  of  smoke. 

At  this  mosque  on  Fridays  there  is  a  distri- 
bution of  bread  to  dogs,  and  the  hungry  ones 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  city  to  get  their 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     295 

portion;   but  just  how  long  this  benevolence 

will  be  possible  it  is  hard  to  state.  With  the 
exception  of  a  few  of  the  finer  mosques,  the 
ecclesiastical  endowments  are  being  taken 
forcible  possession  of  by  the  Government.  The 
Government  begins  with  promising  to  pay  an 
equal  income  to  the  rightful  authorities,  but 
this  promise  is  at  first  only  partially  fulfilled, 
and  then  deliberately  ignored. 

Near  one  of  the  mosques  —  in  its  actual 
shadow,  where  so  many  of  the  faithful  find 
noonday  rest  and  sleep  —  I  saw  a  sorceress 
revealing  her  mysteries  to  a  Bashi-Bazouk. 
This  hag,  who  might  have  gone  on  as  a  witch 
in  Macbeth,  and  been  applauded  for  her  capital 
make-up, — this  lean  and  grinning  ancient  was 
crouching  on  all-fours,  and  studying  a  litter  of 
shells,  coins,  buttons,  broken  glass,  old  nails, 
and  other  rubbish  which  she  had  just  cast  from 
her  hand.  Out  of  the  chaos  she  spun  a  web  of 
fate  that  made  the  lad  who  was  involved  in  it 
fairly  shiver  with  delight.  Our  dragoman  said 
that,  on  the  whole,  her  revelations  were  not 
very  compromising.  She  foretold  a  series  of 
ordinary  adventures,  terminating  in  a  final 
return  to  the  parental  roof,  where  love  and  a 
full  cup,  and  the  usual  accessories  of  the  last 
act  in  life's  comedy,  awaited  that  Bashi- 
Bazouk — ' '  Bless  you,  my  children ! ' '  (Curtain. ) 
A  few  idlers   gathered  about    while  the  sor- 


296      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

ceress  groveled  among  her  enchanted  trin- 
kets, and  as  the  climax  approached  she 
threw  her  arms  about,  widening  the  circle  that 
had  closed  in  about  her.  I  believe  nothing 
of  much  importance  was  said  concerning  the 
Eastern  question.  That  Bashi-Bazouk  was 
one  of  a  tribe  who  are  called  "crack-brained," 
for  so  the  word  may  be  literally  translated; 
but  he  showed  nothing  of  the  reputed  in- 
humanity that  has  made  the  name  terrible  in 
the  mouths  of  Christians.  Still,  I  believe  that 
the  Turks  are  so  constituted,  mentally, 
morally,  religiously,  physically,  that  in  war- 
time, if  you  were  to  capture  a  Turk  and 
behead  him  in  the  cause  of  science,  you  would 
discover  that  his  body  "wriggles  until  sun- 
set." 

Constantino  the  Great  surroimded  his  city 
with  a  wall  thirteen  miles  in  length,  having 
eight-and-twenty  gates  and  many  a  lofty  tower. 
These  walls  still  stand,  tottering,  and  are 
wonderfully  picturesque.  In  parts  of  the  old 
fortifications  you  can  see  the  breaches  made  by 
catapults  and  battering  rams.  Of  all  the 
gates,  there  are  no  two  alike,  and  each  has 
something  of  its  own  that  is  either  beautiful 
or  interesting.  One  of  the  pleasantest  excur- 
sions about  the  City  of  the  Sultan  is  the 
exploration  of  the  walls  and  towers.  There 
are  cemeteries  by  the  way,  and  mosques  and  a 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      297 

thousand  caf^s,  to  beguile  you.  You  may  float 
under  the  walls  in  a  caique^  for  their  very 
foundations  are  laid  in  the  sea,  on  one  side  of 
the  city ;  you  may  ride,  or  drive,  or  walk ;  you 
may  have  a  distant  view  of  the  Mosque  of 
Eyoob,  where  the  Osmanli  sultans  gird  on  the 
sword  of  Osman.  Eyoob  was  the  standard- 
bearer  and  companion-in-arms  of  the  Prophet, 
and  was  killed  at  the  siege  of  Constantinople 
by  the  Arabs,  A.  D.  668.  Mohammed  II. 
having  had  the  tomb  of  Eyoob  revealed  to  him 
in  a  vision,  the  mosque  and  mausoleum  were 
erected  on  the  spot.  They  are  far  too  holy  for 
a  Christian  to  enter,  even  in  his  stocking-feet ; 
which  is  rather  a  pity,  inasmuch  as  this  mosque 
is  one  of  the  most  magnificent  of  the  many 
near  the  capital. 

At  the  Greek  Church,  buried  in  one  of  the 
cypress  groves,  there  are  some  miraculous 
fish,  red  on  one  side  and  brown  on  the  other. 
These  fish  were  in  the  frying-pan,  perfectly 
resigned  to  fate,  when  Constantinople  was 
taken.  That  was  a  little  too  much,  and  they 
leaped  out  of  the  frying-pan,  browned  on  one 
side  only.  If  you  don't  believe  it,  inquire  at 
the  Greek  Church,  and  see  these  precocious 
wrigglers,  swimming  about  in  the  fountain  as 
gaily  as  if  they  were  not  well-done  on  one  side 
and  raw  on  the  other. 

At  the  Seven  Towers,  where  the  treasury 


THE   SWEET  WATERS. 


was    formerly 

kept,    the     walls 

are  ponderous,  and  the  interior  of    the  court, 

which  they  enclose  like  some   ancient  garden, 

neglected  and  forlorn.  There  are  stone  stairways 

leading  up  to  parapets,  where  the  grass  waves  in 

the  wind,  and  the  poppies  flutter  their  leaves 

like  butterfly  wings;  where  the  huge,  hollow 

towers  are  rent  from  top  to  bottom,  but  the 

vines  that  clasp  them  in  their  strong  embrace 

keep  the  old  fellows  from  falling.     Trees  force 
298 


A  CRUISE  UNlDER  THE  CRESCENT.      299 

their  way  out  of  the  crevices,  and  the  place 
is  alive  with  lizards.  As  quiet  as  a  country 
dooryard  in  the  sunshine,  this  ancient  fortress 
was  once  the  scene  of  continual  slaughter, 
and  there  is  hardly  a  stone  in  it  but  might 
mark  the  grave  of  some  victim  of  tjn^anny  or 
treachery,  whose  blood  has  stained  this  soil. 

In  the  Valley  of  Sweet  Waters!  It  is  a 
long  drive  from  Pera  over  the  dusty  hills  to 
the  Vale  of  Sweet  Waters ;  but  on  Friday  after- 
noons the  road  is  lined  with  carriages,  and  the 
groves  on  the  banks  of  that  pretty  stream — the 
waters  of  which  are  worthily  called  sweet — 
resound  to  the  music  of  many  a  mandolin  and 
the  gay  laughter  of  women. 

After  mosque — the  regular  Friday  duty  of 
all  Mussulmans  is  to  say  their  prayers  in  state 
on  that  day — after  prayers,  the  devout  and 
the  indifferent  hasten  to  the  Vale  of  the  Sweet 
Waters,  and  give  their  souls  to  the  luxury  of 
life.  The  spectacle  is  both  charming  and 
unique ;  such  a  scene  can  only  be  imagined  by 
the  student  of  Eastern  poetry ;  for  it  is  one  of 
the  most  joyous,  brilliant,  and  picturesque 
that  can  be  conceived  of.  It  is  a  garden 
party,  in  carnival  costume,  held  in  the  midst  of 
green  pastures,  and  beside  still  waters  that 
rival  those  of  the  Vale  of  Cashmere. 

As  we  drove  into  the  mouth  of  the  valley  our 
road  wound  under  luxuriant  boughs  dense  with 


300    A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

black  shadows ;  on  one  hand  a  narrow  stream 
flowed  noiselessly;  one  shore  was  a  bed  of 
moss,  the  other  a  wilderness  of  foliage,  through 
which  even  the  birds  might  find  it  difficult  to 
pass.  White  swans  sailed  up  and  down  the 
stream;  yellow  leaves  floated  upon  it;  its 
waters  were  so  clear  and  so  tranquil  that  they 
appeared,  even  in  the  shadow,  like  a  deep 
river  of  amber. 

Deep  in  the  valley  there  is  a  summer  palace 
of  the  sultan.  You  see  it  in  the  midst  of  vel- 
vet lawns,  among  cypresses,  and  mimosas, 
and  fountains — a  cage  of  w^hite  and  gold,  such 
as  might  house  the  birds  of  paradise.  Musters 
of  peacocks  cover  the  lawns,  and  strut  about 
with  their  fan-tails  spread,  as  proud  as  any 
Turk  in  the  land.  Some  of  these  decorative 
but  unmusical  birds  were  posing  on  the 
pedestals  and  urns  that  stand  in  the  garden — a 
highly  effective  but  rather  theatrical  display, 
for  which  the  birds  may  be  pardoned. 

The  stream  broadens  below  the  summer  pal- 
ace; the  groves  scatter  themselves  over  the 
meadows  on  either  side ;  a  thousand  caiques  are 
in  the  water,  crowding  their  way  to  and  fro 
between  the  shores,  laden  with  pleasure- 
seekers.  The  shores  themselves  absolutely 
swarm  with  women  and  children;  it  is  their 
high  holiday. 

We  enter  one  of  the  caiques,  and  seat  our- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      301 

selves  cautiously  in  the  bottom  of  it ;  nothing 
can  be  more  uncomfortable  or  more  insecure 
than  these  tottering,  flat-bottomed,  ill-balanced 
boats.  The  oarsman  sits  with  his  back  to  the 
bow,  and  is  obliged  to  throw  an  eye  over  his 
shoulder  every  five  seconds  to  avoid  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  collision,  and  with  this  double  duty 
on  his  hands  he  is  certainly  excusable  for  an 
occasional  disaster.  We  had  our  bow  stove 
in,  and  were  drawn  on  shore  as  speedily  as 
possible,  to  avoid  being  crushed  in  the  im- 
mense throng  of  caiques  that  choked  the  stream 
for  two  or  three  miles,  and  rendered  a  cruise 
in  the  sweet  waters  far  from  enjoyable. 

On  the  shore  were  multitudes  of  women 
wrapped  in  silks  and  satins  of  the  brightest 
colors,  and  seated  upon  rich  Persian  carpets 
spread  under  the  trees.  These  women  were 
generally  in  groups  of  three  or  more,  and 
were  attended  by  Nubian  slaves,  who  also  wore 
the  yashmack  upon  their  faces,  though  they 
were  as  black  as  ebony. 

Bands  of  singers,  dancers,  instrumentalists, 
magicians,  snake-charmers,  and  story-tellers 
wander  up  and  down  the  shore,  plying  their 
trades  and  making  the  valley  resound  with  the 
confusion  of  Babel.  In  every  group  the 
nargileh  sent  up  its  fragrant  incense,  and  half 
the  world  seemed  to  be  feeding  upon  honeyed 
fruits  and  drinking  sherbet  or  raki.  Doubtless 
flo 


302      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

this  latter  liquor  flowed  freely,  for  the  tumult 
increased  as  the  afternoon  waned. 

There  were  tents  pitched  in  the  smaller 
groves,  and  from  these  more  reserved  circles 
came  gushing  laughter,  and  the  click  of 
glasses,  and  the  pretty  patter  of  applauding 
kids.  The  Harem  really  does  enjoy  itself  on  a 
Friday,  even  though  that  black  giant  of  a 
eunuch  is  seated  without  the  curtains  of  the 
tent. 

The  sojourner  in  Pera  can  touch  the  two 
extremes  of  Oriental  enjoyment  when  he  drifts 
over  to  Prinkipo  of  a  sunny  spring  morning, 
and  lounges  in  the  semi-solitude  of  that  slum- 
berous isle,  and  when,  weary  of  professional 
sight-seeing  and  of  the  hum  of  business  in  the 
Frank  quarter  of  the  town,  he  takes  carriage 
or  caique  and  comes  by  land  or  sea  to  the  Vale 
of  the  Sweet  Waters,  and  enters  for  a  moment 
into  the  spirit  of  the  fite.  Your  practical 
Mohammedan  goes  hence  to  indulge  his  eyes 
with  a  vision  of  the  joys  to  come ;  for  is  it  not 
promised  him  who  is  faithful,  a  river  and  the 
flower  of  womanhood,  together  with  meat  and 
drink? 

The  Bridge  of  Boats !  Somehow,  one  always 
gets  back  to  the  Bridge  of  Boats  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  perhaps  there  is 
nothing  hereabout  that  is  so  delightful,  and 
whose  interest  is  so  continuous.     If  the  Styx 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     303 

were  bridged,  one  might  expect  to  find  it  no 
more  crowded  than  this  thoroughfare;  and  I 
doubt  if  a  more  motley  multitude  could  be 
gathered  together,  even  though  it  were  per- 
sonally conducted  by  Charon.  I  know  that  the 
costumes  are  bewildering;  that  one  need 
never  go  farther  to  look  for  faces  or  figures; 
that  the  Ark,  when  it  g^rounded  on  Mount 
Ararat,  and  poured  forth  its  miscellaneous 
crew,  could  hardly  have  surpassed  this  Bridge 
of  Boats  in  the  infinite  variety  of  its  species. 

Men  and  beasts  travel  together  here.  The 
way  is  lined  with  those  itinerant  bazaars  that 
spread  themselves  at  your  feet  and  beguile 
you;  but  the  next  moment  they  are  rolled 
together  again,  and  borne  away  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  merchant,  who  doesn't  seem  in  the 
least  in  earnest  when  he  asks  you  to  purchase 
his  wares. 

The  fire  brigade  of  this  inflammable  city  is 
better  than  nothing ;  for  it  shows  a  willingness 
on  the  part  of  the  authorities  to  afford  the 
populace  a  cheap  and  perfectly  harmless 
amusement,  but  that  is  about  as  much  as  it  is 
capable  of. 

Constantinople  is  always  in  flames;  it  has 
several  times  attracted  the  attention  and  the 
sympathy  of  the  world,  in  consequence  of  the 
extent  of  its  suffering.  I  had  often  wondered 
what  means  are  taken  to  arrest  the  progress  of 


304      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

SO  dangerous  an  element  in  a  community  that 
is  perfectly  at  the  mercy  of  it.  At  last  my 
curiosity  was  gratified.  Lounging  on  the 
bridge  one  day — ^listening  to  the  delightful 
chant  of  a  pair  of  sherbet  sellers,  who  went  off 
every  two  minutes  like  a  musical  clock,  and 
looking  at  the  spectacular  populace  crowding 
to  and  fro — I  heard  an  unusual  commotion,  and 
saw  that  a  charge  of  half -naked  infantry  was 
cutting  an  avenue  through  the  dense  crowd. 
Then  came  five-and-twenty  lusty  fellows,  who 
bore  above  their  heads  in  triumph  a  small  box 
— its  size  might  have  been  two  by  four,  and  a 
couple  of  feet  deep — with  a  garden  hose-pump 
attached.  If  it  were  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant 
being  hurried  away  to  the  mountains  it  could 
hardly  have  created  more  sensation  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Constantinopolitan.  The  ten 
tribes  leaped  for  joy;  all  the  nations  sang 
together.  I  joined  the  chorus,  for  it  was 
impossible  not  to  be  infected  by  such  uni- 
versal enthusiasm. 

On  came  another,  and  another,  and  yet 
another  caravan,  bearing  its  trophy  aloft,  and 
shouting  the  battle-cry  of  something  which  I 
was  unable  to  interpret.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
hundreds  of  these  machines  were  hurried  over 
the  bridge.  Some  of  them  were  returning  at 
a  moderate  pace  long  before  the  procession  was 
over.     The  companies  saluted  one  another  in 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       305 

gfreat  glee,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  hour  was 
in  no  wise  abated. 

At  last  I  asked  what  was  the  meaning  of  this 
extraordinary  demonstration.  It  might  have 
been  a  race  of  the  youths  of  Turkey;  or 
happy  souls  bearing  tribute  to  the  happy 
sultan  of  the  unhappy  Empire ;  but  it  was  not. 
It  was  only  the  fire  department  of  Constanti- 
nople on  active  duty;  and  the  wonder  is  that 
there  is  a  sole  survivor  capable  of  telling  the 
tale,  or  a  solitary  stone  left  standing  upon  a 
stone  on  the  hills  of  the  Bosporus. 


XII. 

ST.  SOPHIA. 

Above  the  waters  of  the  Golden  Horn  rise 
the  thousand  minarets  of  the  mosques  that  are 
scattered  everywhere  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  great  city.  More  than  a  million 
souls  are  within  call  of  the  muezzins,  who  pro- 
claim Mohammed  the  prophet  of  Allah,  and 
prayer  better  than  sleep. 

In  Stamboul  the  mosques  are  numerous,  and 
three  or  four  of  them  are  marvels  of  pictur- 
esque architecture.  Close  to  the  seraglio  there 
is  a  temple  that  seems  not  to  have  been  made 
with  hands ;  indeed,  tradition  attributes  much 
of  its  beauty  to  the  angels,  under  whose 
immediate  direction  it  was  reared. 

Looking  upon  this  superb  structure,  over  the 

roofs  of  Stamboul,  your  eye  is  fixed  in  wonder 

and    delight    upon    the    nine    domes    heaped 

together  one  upon  the  other,  like  a  cluster  of 

huge  bubbles,  with  the  largest  one  floating  at 

the  top,  where  it  seems  to  swim  in  the  air  and 

suspend  the  others.     The  minarets  that  spring 

from  the  four  comers  of  the  building  are  as 

slenderly  and  elegantly  proportioned  as  waxen 

tapers,  and  the  three  galleries  that  girdle  them 
306 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     307 

are  as  chaste  and  as  significant  as  if  they  were 
jeweled  rings  betrothing  earth  and  heaven. 
This  miraculous  mosque  is  ' Ayia  2<x<.ia,  the  St. 
Sophia  that  fifteen  centuries  ago  sprang  into 
existence  as  if  by  magic,  and  was  dedicated  by 
the  Emperor  Constantine  to  the  Divine  Wis- 
dom, the  Word,  the  Second  Person  of  the  Holy 
Trinity. 

Is  there  a  temple  under  the  sun  whose  his- 
tory is  more  romantic,  whose  fate  is  more  piti- 
ful, whose  future  is  more  uncertain?  Listen 
to  the  marvelous  story  of  St.  Sophia: 

In  the  twentieth  year  of  the  reig^  of  Con- 
stantine, A.  D,  325 — the  same  in  which  the 
Council  of  Nice  was  opened,  and  the  founda- 
tions of  the  new  city  walls  and  palaces  of 
Constantinople  were  laid — arose  this  Temple 
of  Divine  Wisdom.  A  hundred  architects 
superintended  it ;  under  each  architect  were  a 
hundred  masons.  An  angel  had  appeared  to 
the  Emperor  in  a  dream,  and  gfiven  orders  as 
to  the  distribution  of  these  artisans,  and  the 
nature  of  their  work.  Five  thousand  masons 
were  placed  upon  the  right  side  of  the  build- 
ing and  five  thousand  upon  the  left.  The 
Emperor,  dressed  in  coarse  linen,  his  head 
bound  with  a  cloth,  and  a  stick  in  his  hand, 
daily  visited  the  workmen,  and  hastened  the 
progress  of  the  building  by  prizes  and  gifts. 

The  walls  and  arches  were  constructed  of 


3o8     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

brick,  overlaid  with  the  rarest  marble,  granite, 
and  porphyry.  Phrygian  white  marble,  with 
rose-colored  stripes;  green  marble  from 
Laconica;  blue  marble  from  Libya;  black 
Celtic  marble,  with  white  veins;  Bosporus 
marble,  white,  with  black  veins;  Thessalian, 
Molossian,  Proconnesian  marble;  Egyptian 
starred  granite,  and  Saitic  porphyry — all  these 
were  lavished  upon  the  inner  walls  of  the 
Temple,  Antique  columns  were  brought 
from  the  ruins  of  the  most  famous  of  the 
ancient  temples,  and  wrought  into  the  struc- 
ture ;  columns  of  Isis  and  Osiris ;  pillars  from 
the  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Baalbek,  of  the  Sun 
and  Moon  at  Heliopolis  and  Ephesus;  of 
Pallas  at  Athens ;  of  Phoebus  at  Deles,  and  of 
Cybele  at  Cyzicus. 

The  mortar  was  made  with  barley-water, 
and  the  foundations  were  cemented  with  a 
mastic  made  of  lime  and  barley-water.  The 
chalk-white  tiles  from  Rhodes  that  covered 
the  arch  of  the  cupolas  bear  the  inscription: 
"God  has  founded  it,  and  it  will  not  be  over- 
thrown. God  will  support  it  in  the  blush  of  the 
dawn."  These  tiles  were  laid  by  twelves,  and 
after  each  layer  relics  were  built  in,  while  the 
priests  sang  hymns  and  said  prayers  for  the 
durability  of  the  edifice  and  the  prosperity  of 
the  Church. 

When  the  question  arose  whether  the  light 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       309 

should  fall  upon  the  high  altar  through  one  or 
two  arched  windows,  the  Emperor  and  the 
architects  were  in  a  hot  dispute ;  but  an  angel 
appeared  and  directed  that  the  light  should  fall 
through  three  windows,  in  honor  of  the  Father, 
and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

The  altar,  more  costly  than  gold,  was  to  be 
composed  of  every  precious  material  bedded 
together  with  gold  and  silver,  incrusted  with 
pearls  and  jewels.  The  tabernacle  was  a  tower 
of  gold,  ornamented  with  golden  lilies;  and 
above  it  was  a  cross  of  gold  adorned  with 
precious  stones,  weighing  five-and-seventy 
pounds.  The  throne  of  the  Patriarch  and  the 
seven  seats  of  the  priests  were  of  silver ;  about 
the  altar  were  golden  pillars,  and  by  the  pulpit 
stood  a  golden  cross  one  hundred  pounds  in 
weight,  glittering  with  carbuncles  and  pearls. 
The  sacred  vessels  were  of  purest  gold ;  there 
were  42,000  chalice-cloths  worked  in  pearls  and 
jewels.  Four-and- twenty  colossal  books  of  the 
Evangelists,  with  golden  covers,  weighed  each 
twenty  hundredweight. 

The  gold  in  the  vine-formed  candelabra  for 
the  high  altar,  the  pulpit,  and  the  gallery  for 
women,  amounted  to  6,000  hundredweight  of 
the  purest  quality.  There  were  two  candelabra 
adorned  with  figures,  all  of  gold,  each  weigh- 
ing III  pounds,  and  seven  golden  crosses  of 
100  pounds  each.     The  doors  were  of  ivory. 


3IO      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

amber  and  cedar,  the  principal  door  of  silver. 
Three  doors  were  veneered  with  planks  said  to 
have  been  taken  from  the  Ark  of  Noah. 

Above  the  holy  font  in  the  church  there  were 
four  trumpets  blown  by  sculptured  angels, 
supposed  to  be  the  very  trumpets  at  whose 
blast  the  walls  of  Jericho  were  overthrown. 
The  floor  was  to  have  been  paved  with  gold, 
but  the  wise  Justinian  abandoned  this  idea, 
fearing  that  his  successors  might  be  tempted  to 
dismantle  the  Temple.  The  floor  was  there- 
fore of  clouded  marble,  over  which  faint,  wav- 
ing lines  imitated  the  advance  of  the  sea ;  and 
from  the  four  comers  of  the  Temple  these 
mimic  waves  flowed  silently  toward  the  four 
vestibules,  in  the  manner  of  the  four  rivers  of 
Paradise. 

At  the  fountain  of  the  priests  twelve  shells  re- 
ceived the  rain-water,  and  twelve  lions,  twelve 
leopards,  and  twelve  does,  spat  it  forth  again. 

An  angel  gave  the  plan  and  the  name  for  the 
Temple.  It  remained  for  an  angel  to  furnish 
part  of  the  funds  for  its  construction.  When 
money  was  failing,  though  taxes  were  imposed 
upon  the  people  of  all  classes,  and  even  the 
salaries  of  the  professors  were  applied  to  the 
building,  this  angel  appeared  and  directed  a 
train  of  mules  into  a  subterranean  vault,  laded 
them  with  eighty  hundredweight  of  gold,  and 
delivered  the  same  over  to  the  Emperor. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       311 

Seven  and  a  half  years  the  artisans  toiled 
upon  the  material  as  it  slowly  accumulated; 
eight  and  a  half  years  the  building  grew,  and 
when  it  was  finished  and  furnished,  on  Christ- 
mas Eve,  A.  D.  548,  the  Emperor  drove  in 
state  to  St.  Sophia,  entered  the  church  with  the 
Patriarch  Eutychius,  ran  swiftly  from  the 
portico  to  the  pulpit,  and  with  outstretched 
hands  cried:  "God  be  praised,  who  hath 
esteemed  me  worthy  to  complete  such  a  work ! 
Solomon,  I  have  surpassed  thee!" 

One  thousand  oxen,  one  thousand  sheep,  six 
hundred  deer,  one  thousand  pigs,  ten  thousand 
cocks  and  hens  were  slaughtered,  and,  together 
with  thirty  thousand  measures  of  corn,  were 
distributed  among  the  poor.  On  the  following 
morning  —  Christmas  Day  —  the  church  was 
formally  opened,  and  the  sacrifices  and  thanks- 
givings continued  fourteen  days  —  until  the 
Epiphany. 

What  followed  is  scarcely  less  marvelous. 
Twice  the  Temple  was  destroyed  by  fire,  and 
twice  rebuilt;  twice  the  great  dome  fell,  and 
twice  it  was  restored.  The  arches,  having 
resounded  to  the  music  of  Chrysostom's  golden 
tongue,  came  at  last  to  echo  the  blasphemies 
of  the  infidel  and  the  groans  of  the  wounded 
and  dying.  At  the  capture  of  Constantinople 
the  clergy,  the  virgins  dedicated  to  God,  and  a 
multitude  of  people  of  all  classes  crowded  into 


312      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

the  church,  and  sought  refuge  before  the  high 
altar.  Mohammed,  at  the  head  of  the 
Osmanlis,  rode  into  the  sanctuary,  forced  his 
way  through  the  affrighted  throng,  and  leap- 
ing from  his  horse,  at  the  altar,  he  cried: 
"There  is  no  god  but  God,  and  Mohammed  is 
His  prophet!"  A  hideous  scene  of  slaughter 
followed,  and  the  Temple  was  desecrated. 

The  sultans  have  despoiled  it  of  its  pictorial 
beauty ;  have  added  minarets  and  abutments  to 
support  the  tottering  southeast  wall;  have 
caused  the  rich  frescoes  to  be  plastered  over 
with  a  yellowish  substance;  have  chipped 
away,  wherever  it  was  possible,  the  carved 
symbol  of  the  cross;  have  hung  great  disks, 
graven  with  the  names  of  the  four  companions 
of  the  Prophet,  over  the  seraphim  under  the 
dome,  with  their  slender  wings  crossed  above 
and  below  them  and  upon  their  breasts ;  while 
beneath  the  cupola  is  inscribed,  in  fantastic 
and  beautiful  characters,  a  line  from  the 
Koran :  "God  is  the  light  of  the  heavens  and  of 
the  earth. ' ' 

As  we  entered  the  porch  of  St.  Sophia,  pro- 
tected by  our  dragoman,  we  were  gently  but 
emphatically  requested  to  put  off  our  shoes. 
We  could  keep  on  our  hats  if  we  chose — you 
always  wear  them  in  a  mosque — but  we 
instinctively  doffed  our  hat  at  the  threshold  of 
the  ancient  church,  and  entered  it  stocking- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       313 

footed,  in  solemn  silence,  bearing  our  shoes  in 
one  hand  and  our  hat  in  the  other. 

The  first  impression  we  received  was  almost 
overpowering.  The  vastness  and  elegance  of 
the  interior,  the  solemnity  and  majesty  of  the 
decorations,  the  tranquillity  that  broods  over 
all  the  place,  fill  one  with  religious  awe.  The 
seraphim  fold  their  six  great  wings  above  you, 
and  from  the  walls,  from  the  marble  galleries, 
from  the  shadow-filled  cupolas  a  hundred 
vague  forms  gradually  discover  themselves — 
the  ghosts  of  the  saints  and  angels  that  once 
hallowed  this  lovely  Temple.  I  know  not  how 
many  crosses  I  traced  in  the  mutilated  sculp- 
turing. The  original  cross  is  gone,  but  the 
chisel  has  left  the  form  there  as  exact  as  ever. 

There  are  Madonna  faces  that  seem  to  exhale 
from  the  thick,  dull  plaster  that  has  been  laid 
over  them.  You  see  them;  yet  can  hardly 
convince  yourself  that  you  see  them,  they  are 
so  like  half -imagined  pictures.  In  the  apse — 
the  hollow  and  naked  apse  that  once  sheltered 
the  high  altar — there  is  a  shadow  that  haunts 
you ;  you  turn  to  it  again  and  again,  and  study 
it  from  every  part  of  the  building.  By  and  by 
the  shadow  begins  to  take  shape.  It  is  a  faint 
cloud  that  deepens  in  certain  lights,  and  when 
you  are  at  the  exact  angle,  and  the  fortunate 
hour  has  come,  you  see  it  plainly  enough — the 
sorrowful  but    forgiving  countenance   of  the 


314      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Redeemer  as  it  looks  down  upon  ttie  desolated 
and  desecrated  sanctuary. 

The  apse  of  St.  Sophia  is  due  east,  the  holy- 
house  of  Mecca  is  southeast  of  Stamboul; 
therefore,  as  every  Mussulman  must  pray 
with  his  face  turned  to  Mecca,  the  Mihrab, 
or  Mussulman  altar,  is  erected  in  an  angle 
of  the  mosque.  At  almost  any  hour  of  the  day 
you  find  rows  of  the  prayerful  stretched  cross- 
wise through  the  mosque,  prostrating  them- 
selves on  the  rich  carpets  that  cover  the  marble 
floor.  Two  flags,  suspended  near  their  pulpit, 
commemorate  the  triumph  of  Islam  over 
Judaism  and  Christianity,  of  the  Koran  over 
the  Old  and  New  Testaments.  There  is  a 
prayer-carpet  of  Mohammed — a  very  precious 
relic;  a  sweating  column,  the  moisture  of 
which  is  said  to  produce  miraculous  cures;  a 
cold  window,  famous  as  productive  of  science, 
inasmuch  as  any  one  who  sits  in  the  draft 
thereof  is  sure  to  study  with  exceptional 
success.  They  show  also  among  the  relics  of 
the  mosque  a  small  sarcophagus,  which  is 
called  the  Cradle  of  Our  Lord ;  and  a  cup,  or 
bowl,  in  which  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  said  to 
have  bathed  her  Babe ;  but  these  traditions  are 
purely  Turkish. 

While  we  wandered  over  the  vast  building, 
and  were  being  besieged  by  Turks,  who  had 
handfuls  of    fragments    from    the    mutilated 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       315 

mosaics,  and  were  eager  to  dispose  of  them  at 
a  bargain,  I  heard  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the 
mosque.  Looking  about  me,  I  saw  the  wise 
men  of  the  East  seated  upon  fat  cushions  in 
the  midst  of  a  circle  of  youths,  expounding 
the  Koran,  that  lay  open  on  a  tiny  table  richly 
inlaid  with  pearl.  In  distant  parts  of  the 
building  there  were  singing-boys  committing 
the  Koran  to  memory.  They  were  the  acolytes 
of  the  mosque,  and  some  of  them  had  remark- 
ably fine  voices. 

One  little  fellow  who  was  seated  in  an 
enclosure  under  the  gallery  threw  back  his 
head  and  caroled  like  a  lark.  The  Turkish 
chant  has  no  more  method  in  it  than  a  lark's 
song.  It  is  apparently  the  spontaneous 
expression  of  the  singer,  who  voluntarily  yields 
to  every  passion  of  the  heart,  and  finds  a  pleas- 
ure in  the  distracting  vagaries  of  his  own 
delightful  voice.  We  paused  to  listen.  The 
youngster  was  rocking  his  body  to  and  fro,  and 
sending  his  delicious  notes  aloft  like  vocal 
sunbeams  sparkling  among  the  nine  domes  of 
the  mosque.  He  stopped  suddenly,  like  a  bird 
in  a  cage,  startled  and  curious ;  then  stretched 
out  his  slender  hand  for  alms ;  gave  us  a  baby 
scowl  that  had  something  of  inherited  hate  in 
it,  and  shut  his  small  mouth  with  scorn.  We 
passed  on,  and  listened  among  the  columns  at 
a  little  distance.     He  stretched  his  neck  and 


3i6      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

Stared  after  us;  again  began  rocking  to  and 
fro;  piped  a  little,  chirped  softly  to  himself, 
and  then,  with  one  daring  flight,  soared  into 
the  seventh  heaven  of  melody,  and  floated 
there  in  an  ecstasy  of  fanaticism. 


XIII. 

ON   THE   BOSPORUS. 

The  bridge  of  boats  that  spans  the  Golden 
Horn  is  lined  on  the  lower  side  with  steamers 
plying  between  it  and  the  sea  islands,  the 
Asiatic  shore  and  the  villages  on  the  Bos- 
porus. It  is  our  day  for  the  Bosporus.  Antonio, 
a  Greek,  in  whom  we  are  gradually  gain- 
ing confidence,  leads  our  caravan  forth  in 
the  fresh  morning.  We  slide  from  Pera  to 
Galata  by  the  underground  rail,  in  company 
with  several  opulent-looking  Turks,  who  fill 
the  close  carriage  with  cigarette  smoke  during 
our  brief  transit.  At  Galata — that  name 
signifies  the  abode  of  the  Gauls — we  pick  our 
path  through  the  busy  streets,  hasten  half-way 
over  the  bridge  of  boats,  and  climb  down  lad- 
ders and  over  planks,  and  up  ladders  again  on 
the  other  side,  until  we  find  ourselves  safely 
ticketed  for  a  day  on  a  Bosporus  boat. 

The  mere  fact  that  we  are  on  board  one  of 
the  five-and-twenty  steamers  of  the  Shirket-i- 
Hairie  Company  is  delightful ;  neither  can  we 
read  the  name  on  the  paddle-box,  which  adds 
greatly  to  our  enjoyment  of  the  voyage.  It 
begins  to  feel  as  if  we  are  really  in  Turkey — a 

21  3»7 


3i8      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

fact  that  is  not  to  be  accepted  without  some 
compunctions  of  conscience  up  yonder  in  that 
Frankified,  hotel-haunted  Pera. 

Our  steamer — not  a  bad  one  by  any  means — 
rapidly  fills  with  the  mixed  races  of  the  earth ; 
the  bridge  is  crowded  from  dawn  to  dark;  a 
thin  stream  of  tourists  pours  down  the  ladder 
onto  our  boat.  I  can  see  on  either  side  of  us 
other  steamers,  with  steam  up,  and  they  are 
likewise  being  overrun  with  the  strange-look- 
ing people,  who  drop  out  of  the  dense  tide  that 
ebbs  to  and  fro.  The  wonder  is  that  you  and 
they  are  not  swept  on,  and  swallowed  up  in  the 
strong  current  that  seems  never  to  decrease  in 
volume  or  slacken  its  speed. 

Our  boat  is  a  double-decker.  In  the  bows 
the  poorer  classes,  chiefly  natives,  travel  at  a 
reduced  figure.  Amidships  there  are  cush- 
ioned seats,  a  comparatively  clean  deck,  and 
the  companion-way  dropping  into  a  cabin 
below,  which  is  apparently  a  kind  of  refined 
black-hole,  carefully  avoided  by  everybody. 
In  the  stem  there  is  a  pen,  hedged  in  by  a  low 
railing  and  a  canvas  curtain ;  and  behind  that 
veil  the  women  of  the  harem  bury  themselves 
from  the  faces  of  men.  We  can  see  them,  as 
much  as  we  care  to  see  of  them,  as  they  board 
us,  and  elbow  their  way  through  the  throng  of 
first-class  passengers  to  their  sanctuary;  and 
we    are    just    mean    enough    to    look.      The 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      319 

yashmack  that  falls  from  the  eyes  to  the  waist 
is  rather  formidable;  it  were  vain  to  search 
among  its  opaque  folds  for  any  shadow  of  the 
lips  that  have  fed  on  halva  and  sherbet  all 
their  days;  but  the  dark  orbs  are  turned 
toward  you,  and  the  heavy  lids  that  have  been 
plastered  with  a  white  paste  that  lies  upon 
them  like  fish-scales,  and  darkened  with  deep, 
broad  lines  of  kohl — those  soft  but  expression- 
less eyes  look  at  you  with  stupid,  animal  curi- 
osity, and  the  large,  velvety  pupils  roll  into  the 
comers  of  the  sockets  as  the  houri  passes  by. 
Ah!  she  might  sit  for  a  face-card  with  those 
eyes  of  hers;  the  cow-like  coquetry  of  the 
Queen  of  Hearts  lurks  under  her  sooty  lashes. 

The  harem  is  so  crowded  before  we  swing 
off  into  the  stream  that  the  canvas  partition 
bulges  in  spots  like  a  huge  dumpling.  We 
regale  ourselves  with  domestic  pastries,  such 
as  the  imagination  of  the  untraveled  foreigner 
may  not  conceive  of;  we  eat  oranges  and 
drink  sherbet,  and  watch  the  traffic  of  the 
bridge,  until  the  paddle-wheels  begin  to  beat 
the  sea  into  a  foam,  and  the  last  man  has 
wrung  his  hands  in  despair — he  wears  a  turban 
in  this  country,  and  his  toes  turn  up  like  skates. 

Drifting  cautiously  down  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  picking  our  way  among  the  ship- 
ping that  is  anchored  in  mid-stream,  we  turn 
away  from  the  point  of  the  seraglio^  head  due 


320      A  CRUISE  tJNt)ER  THE  CRESCENt. 

north  and  find  ourselves  entering  a  river. 
This  is  the  Bosporus ;  it  might  as  well  be  the 
Hudson,  or  any  other  winding  stream  that  has 
green  walls  and  is  lovely  to  look  upon,  but  for 
the  peculiarly  important  relation  it  bears  to 
the  gfrand  divisions  of  the  earth's  surface.  It 
is,  in  fact,  a  brilliant  geographical  climax ! 

Just  think  of  it  for  a  moment.  On  our  right 
the  eastern  shore  is  Asia;  on  our  left,  to  the 
West,  is  Europe;  at  our  back  is  the  Sea  of 
Marmora,  and  in  two  hours  we  shall  have  come 
to  the  waters  of  the  Black  Sea.  The  channel 
turns  so  abruptly  at  times  that  seven  land- 
locked lakes  are  formed,  each  more  charming 
than  the  last.  Palaces,  villas,  villages  line  the 
delicious  shores;  the  hills  brood  over  the 
waters  like  hanging  gardens  of  delight.  I 
believe  that  the  remarkable  beauty  of  the 
Bosporus  is  positively  unequaled  in  the  world ; 
for  Nature  has  made  here  a  bed  for  Art  to 
dream  a  dream  in. 

Behold  two  continents  face  to  face,  like  rival 
queens,  glassing  themselves  beside  two  classic 
seas.  We  are  cruising  between  the  Pontus  and 
the  Propontis,  the  Euxine  and  the  Marmora. 
We  swing  from  shore  to  shore,  pause  for  a  few 
moments  at  each  landing,  exchange  passen- 
gers, and  have  ever  about  us  a  landscape  that 
is  renewed  at  every  turn,  and  a  surprise  that  is 
as  fresh  when  we  steam  up  the  Grolden  Horn  at 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      32 1 

sunset  as  at  the  hour  when  we  came  out  of  it, 
with  our  hearts  full  of  expectation  and  our 
mouths  of  exclamations. 

The  very  names  of  the  villages  about  us  are 
appetizing ;  let  me  select  only  a  part  of  them. 
Here  in  Europe  we  have  the  Hazelnut  Village, 
the  Crowded  Garden,  the  Cradle  Stone,  the 
Dried  Fountain,  the  Castle  in  Europe,  the 
Place  of  Wailing,  the  Farm  Village,  the  Yel- 
low Place.  Across  the  channel,  in  Asia,  lie  the 
Place  of  Labor,  the  Point  of  Quails,  the  Sul- 
tan's Village,  the  Fig  Village,  the  Pipe  Village, 
the  Village  of  Blood,  the  Castle  in  Asia,  the 
Heavenly  Water,  the  Illuminated  Village,  the 
Weary  Man's  Village,  the  Chief  of  the  Beys, 
and  many  other  water-side  hamlets  nestling 
among  chestnut  groves  and  cypresses  under 
the  shelter  of  the  hills. 

With  these  shores  is  associated  the  romantic 
history  of  Barbarossa,  of  Dandolo  and  his 
Venetian  galleys.  Here,  at  the  village  of  the 
Dried  Fountain,  stood  the  laurel  tree  Medea 
planted  when  she  returned  from  Colchis  with 
the  adventurous  Jason;  and  here  Constantine 
erected  a  church  (what  a  church-builder  he 
was!)  to  the  Archangel  Michael;  and  by  this 
church  stood  the  column  on  which  St.  Simeon, 
the  stylite,  watched  and  prayed  between 
heaven  and  earth ;  and  St.  Daniel,  the  stylite, 
followed  him.      In    yonder    valley  are  seven 


322     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

plane  trees,  under  which  Godfrey  de  Bouillon 
encamped  with  his  crusaders  in  1096.  Some 
writers  question  this  tradition,  but  what  is 
gained  by  disbelief  when  the  evidences  are  in 
favor  of  the  tradition?  To  begin  with,  there 
are  the  trees ;  I  defy  you  to  disprove  it !  What 
a  tramp  we  had  through  a  queer  village,  and 
ofE  into  the  soft,  green  meadows,  just  to  pat 
those  old  trees  on  their  shaggy  barks,  and  tell 
them  that  we  believe  in  them,  spite  of  Murray 
and  his  apostles,  and  that  it  is  sure  to  be  all 
right  in  the  end ! 

There  is  a  tree  in  the  Vale  of  Roses,  near 
Kirej-Boornoo — that  gorgeous  word  means 
nothing  less  practical  than  Lime  Point — there 
is  a  tree  there  on  the  bark  of  which  a  shawl 
merchant  from  Ispahan  has  left  his  mark. 
The  sales  were  light  that  day,  and  the  poor 
fellow  had  carried  a  bale  of  splendid  fabrics 
about  in  the  hot  sun  until  his  heart  fainted 
within  him,  and  he  dropped  into  verse.  Then 
the  merchant  from  Ispahan  cut  his  sonnet  on 
the  bark  of  the  tree,  and  you  may  read  to-day, 
with  the  aid  of  your  dragoman,  how  the  bodies 
of  the  merchants  of  Ispahan  are  indeed  perish- 
able, but  that  the  song  of  the  singer  endureth 
forever.  A  pretty  and  a  commendable  senti- 
ment for  a  merchant  to  express,  and  he  has 
expressed  it  in  rare  Persian  characters  as  lovely 
as  one  of  his  own  shawl  patterns. 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      323 

Everywhere  on  the  Bosporus  there  are 
groves  and  gardens  and  lawns.  At  Belgrade, 
thirteen  miles  north  of  Constantinople,  the 
woods  are  sacred,  and  the  ax  is  never  laid  to 
their  roots;  nor  are  the  fountains  suffered  to 
run  dry  in  that  blessed  land.  It  was  at  Bel- 
grade that  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague  lived 
and  wrote  her  letters.  In  the  yellow  valley, 
near  the  Cape  of  the  Tombs,  the  fishermen, 
skippers,  and  gardeners  have  made  an  earthly 
paradise.  When  Murad  IV.  saw  one  of  these 
gardens  he  exclaimed:  "I,  the  servant  of  the 
two  noblest  harems  [of  Mecca  and  Medina], 
possess  no  such  gardens  as  this!"  And  the 
very  next  day  the  price  of  vegetables  went  up. 

But  the  Valley  of  the  Heavenly  Waters  is 
the  most  famous  of  all  these  celestial  haunts. 
The  Eastern  poets  have  preferred  it  to  the  four 
jewels  of  Asia — the  Plains  of  Damascus  and 
Sogd,  the  Meadows  of  Obolla,  near  Basora,  and 
the  Persian  valley  of  Shaab  Bewan.  There  is 
some  slight  consolation  in  the  thought  that 
this  enchanted  glen  is  without  a  rival  in  all  the 
lands  of  the  Orient;  yet  it  is  only  slight. 
Truly  we  are  in  Turkey ;  but  it  is  only  Turkey, 
after  all.  Why  are  we  not  in  Persia?  What  is 
Stamboul  to  the  bazaars  of  Bagdad ! 

We  cross  the  Bosporus  in  a  caique^  and  climb 
the  steep  slopes  of  the  Giant  Mountain  in  Asia. 
What  went  we  up  for  to  see?    Two  continents 


324     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

and  two  seas,  and  sucli  a  chain  of  lakes,  and 
hill  upon  hill  overhanging  a  score  of  valleys, — 
valleys  filled  with  vines  and  fruits  and  flowers. 
Yonder  is  the  Euxine.  Turn  to  your  Byron 
and  read : 

The  wind  swept  down  the  Euxine,  and  the  wave 

Broke  foaming  o'er  the  blue  Symplegades. 
'Tis  a  grand  sight  from  off  the  Giant's  Cave 
To  watch  the  progress  of  those  rolling  seas 
Between  the  Bosporus,  as  they  lash  and  lave 
Europe  and  Asia,  you  being  quite  at  ease. 
There's  not  a  sea  the  passenger  e'er  pukes  in 
Turns  up  more  dangerous  breakers  than  the  Euxine. 

Down  there  at  the  mouth  of  the  Bosporus 
lie  the  Symplegades,  through  which  Jason 
steered  his  Argonauts.  I  fancy  a  dove  might 
pass  them  in  safety  on  a  day  like  this.  It  is 
quite  evident  that  they  don't  butt  one  another 
so  much  as  they  used  to.  Probably  there  are 
no  more  Golden  Fleeces  in  Colchis,  and  not  so 
many  adventurers  as  of  yore. 

On  this  Giant  Mountain  there  is  a  small 
monastery,  wherein  live  two  Turkish  dervishes, 
who  guard  the  grave  of  Joshua.  An  open 
cellar,  twenty  feet  in  length  and  five  in 
breadth,  planted  with  flowers  and  shrubs,  is 
shown  as  the  grave ;  a  classical  story  points  to 
the  same  as  the  tomb  of  Amycus,  King  of  the 
Bebrycians,  who  was  slain  by  Pollux.  In 
either  case  we  are  happy  in  our  pilgrimage ;  so 
are   a    dozen    Turkish    women    shrouded    in 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      325 

voluminous  folds  of  white  linen,  who  have 
come  hither  to  eat  sweetmeats  all  day  long  on 
the  breezy  mountain-top.  This  harem  was 
dragged  up  the  mountain  road  in  a  chariot  of 
scarlet  and  gold,  looking  like  a  small  band- 
wagon in  a  cheap  circus.  The  gray  oxen, 
loosed  from  the  vehicle,  fed  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Joshua's  grave,  and  didn't  seem  to 
care  much  about  the  Eastern  question,  though 
it  is  one  that  concerns  them  personally. 

Down  the  stream ;  back  again  over  the  same 
course ;  seeing  everything  in  a  new  light,  and 
liking  it  better  than  ever;  through  the  arbor 
of  the  Raving  Laurel — the  leaves  of  that  tree 
turn  the  brain  of  him  who  plucks  them ;  past 
the  port  of  the  Manslayer ;  threading  the  ideal 
shores  where  ancient  palaces  are  falling  to 
decay,  and  quaint  old  houses  are  toppling  into 
the  water;  where  huge  ships  lie  close  to  the 
shore,  and  tower  above  the  tiny  villages  that 
are  built  upon  the  edge  of  the  very  last  sea- 
wave,  and  seem  to  rise  and  fall  with  the  tide ; 
where  water-side  caf^s  are  thronged  with 
dreamers  slumbering  in  clouds  of  smoke; 
where  ten  thousand  caiques  rock  upon  the 
tide,  and  threaten  to  turn  over  every  moment, 
and  where  the  land  and  the  sea  are  so  wedded 
that  the  sea  seems  to  have  clasped  her  arms 
over  the  neck  of  the  land,  and  the  embrace  is 
called  the  Bosporus. 


326     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

In  the  great  white  palaces  of  the  solemn 
sultan,  where  the  caged  windows  shut  in  the 
hothouse  flowers  of  Georgia  and  Circassia,  I 
saw  the  sea-gulls  soaring  under  the  eaves,  and 
a  moment  later — at  sunset — we  entered  the 
Golden  Horn,  which  was  like  a  lake  of  flame 
flooding  a  fairy  city  built  of  crystal  and  pearl 
and  gold. 


XIV. 

PRINKIPO. 

The  Islands  of  the  Blessed !  Off  in  the  Sea 
of  Marmora,  on  a  spring  morning,  the  eye 
discovers  a  little  wreath  of  islands,  floating, 
apparently,  cloud-like  in  mid-air.  These  fairy 
islands,  nine  in  number,  are  frequented  by  the 
wealthy  Constantinopolitans,  who  seek  repose 
in  the  lonely  and  lovely  valleys,  where  the  sun 
seems  to  shine  forever;  where  the  harshest 
sound  that  falls  upon  the  ear  is  the  silvery 
ring  of  steel  as  the  husbandman  sharpens  his 
scythe  in  the  meadow,  or  the  chorus  of  fisher- 
boys  singing  over  their  nets  on  the  shore. 

It  is  but  an  hour  and  a  half's  sail  from  the 
Golden  Horn  to  Prinkipo,  the  chief  island  of 
the  group;  yet,  once  beyond  the  contagious 
hurry  of  the  city,  you  find  yourself  sinking 
comfortably  into  one  of  the  easy-chairs  on 
deck,  inhaling  the  delicious  sea-air,  and 
absorbing  the  siinshine  with  genuine  physical 
delight.  I  do  not  wonder  that  emperors  and 
empresses  have  fled  to  these  sea  islands  for 
repose  and  for  security.  Jt  seems  as  if  noth- 
ing worldly  ought  to  touch  their  shores ;  and, 
indeed,  the  steamer  that  runs  over  and  back 
337 


328      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

across  the  sea,  morning  and  evening,  is  the 
only  suggestion  of  an  earnest  and  vigorous  life. 

We  set  sail  in  the  morning,  and  find  our- 
selves almost  immediately  under  the  enchant- 
ing influence  of  the  new  atmosphere.  The 
ripples  sparkle  in  the  sun;  a  few  seabirds 
wheel  on  lazy  wing  and  bear  us  company ;  now 
and  again  a  fish  leaps  from  the  water;  the 
white  gulls  scream  and  dart  upon  it;  there  is 
a  splash  in  the  track  of  the  sun  where  the  sea 
is  paved  with  gold,  and  we  rouse  ourselves 
from  a  reverie  as  deep  almost  as  the  sea. 
Nothing  comes  of  it ;  we  fall  upon  a  basket  of 
fruit  and  launch  a  fleet  of  orange-peel  caiques 
in  our  wake ;  we  roll  the  famed  tobacco  of  the 
land  in  wrappers  of  rice-paper,  and  sweeten 
the  air  with  the  aroma  thereof.  No  one  talks 
much;  every  one  seems  to  be  looking  with 
contented  eyes  into  the  future  or  the  past. 

We  swing  up  to  a  shallow  shore,  under  gjeen 
hills,  where  a  narrow  dock  reaches  far  out  into 
the  deep  water.  This  is  Khalki,  one  of  the 
fairest  islands  of  the  group;  but  we  don't  land 
here  to-day.  We  lean  over  the  rail,  and  see 
the  rope  thrown  lazily  ashore,  and  as  lazily 
caught  and  slipped  over  the  one  post  on  the 
dock.  Somebody  goes  on  shore  very  quietly, 
some  other  body  steps  noiselessly  on  board; 
we  are  cast  off  without  comment,  and  so  drift 
on  toward  Prinkipo. 


We  see  the  three  grassy  hills  of  Khalki, 
crowned  with  the  convents  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  St.  George,  and  the  Holy  Trinity.  We 
learn  that  there  are  students  there — Greeks, 
many  of  them ;  that  there  is  also  an  Ottoman 
naval  college  over  the  hill,  and  that  Khalki  is 
much  resorted  to  by  the  rayahs — the  non- 
Mussulman  subjects  of  the  sultan.  It  seems  to 
us  that  nothing  can  be  finer  than  to  be  a  rayah 
and  a  student,  and  to  lie  all  day  on  those  green, 
green  slopes,  looking  off  upon  the  sparkling 
sea,  and  listening  to  the  study-bell  gfrowing 
ever  fainter  and  fainter  as  we  fall  asleep, 
lapped  in  a  meadow  of  sweet  clover. 

Prinkipo  is  the  largest  of  the  Prince's 
Islands.  It  has  its  village  and  its  hotels,  with 
baths  along  the  shore  just  under  them.  A 
high  road,  in  capital  repair,  makes  the  circuit 
of  the  island;  a  swarm  of  donkey-boys  light 
upon  you  as  you  come  to  land;  and  it  were 
vain  to  waive  them  back  or  seek  to  fly  from 
them,  for  they  will  track  you  to  the  grave  or 
get  their  fee. 

The  summer  village — a  colony  of  play- 
houses— is  so  neat,  so  pretty,  so  untroubled! 
Wreaths  of  flowers  hang  over  the  doors  and  the 
windows  of  almost  every  house.  So  they 
welcome  the  return  of  spring  in  Prinkipo. 
Stately  Turks  are  borne  up  and  down  the  vil- 
lage streets  in  sedan-chairs.     Pipe-bearers  fol- 


330     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

low  them,  and  from  time  to  time,  as  the 
pompous  effendi  waves  his  hand,  his  box  is 
turned  toward  the  sea  in  a  shady  spot;  the 
stalwart  carriers  dash  the  sweat  from  their 
foreheads,  and  squat  at  the  feet  of  their 
master;  the  pipe-boy  uncoils  the  pliant  tube, 
lays  a  live  coal  upon  the  bowl  of  the  nargileh 
as  it  sits  in  the  grass,  and  the  next  half -hour  is 
given  to  serene  and  secret  thoughts.  A  prince 
in  the  Isle  of  Princes  is  a  man  to  put  your  faith 
in;  you  will  always  know  just  where  to  look 
for  him,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  he  takes  no 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  other  men,  and  that 
nothing  can  disturb  the  placidity  of  his  life — 
unless  the  bottom  should  suddenly  drop  out  of 
his  sedan-chair. 

We  hired  a  set  of  donkey -boys  to  walk  behind 
us  at  a  respectful  distance.  Alone  we  did  it, 
— one  after  the  other,  idling  here  and  there, 
getting  astray  in  the  vineyards,  hiding  among 
rose-gardens,  pausing  to  inhale  the  warm  odors 
steeping  in  the  sun,  or  to  catch  the  refrain  of 
some  singer  buried  in  the  wood  on  the  hill. 

There  is  a  Greek  convent  above  the  road, 
hidden  like  a  nest  in  a  deep  hollow.  When 
the  Empress  Irene,  a  contemporary  of  Charle- 
magne and  Haroun-al-Raschid,  was  dethroned, 
she  was  robbed  of  all  the  treasures  of  the 
crown,  and  then  banished  to  this  convent, 
which  herself  had  built.     Later  she  was  sent 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      331 

to  Lemnos,  and  there  died ;  but  her  body  was 
brought  hither,  and  is  still  treasured  in  this 
convent.  When  the  conquerors  of  Constanti- 
nople scattered  the  dust  of  the  Byzantine 
emperors  to  the  winds,  the  sarcophagus  of 
Irene  alone  escaped  destruction. 

High  on  a  summit  of  a  peak  in  Prinkipo 
there  is  a  cloister  and  a  kitchen.  Our  path  lay 
through  a  fragrant  forest;  we  caught  glimpses 
of  broad  blue  seas  and  of  islands  that  swam 
below  us  as  we  climbed  toward  the  summit  of 
the  peak.  Here,  in  an  arbor  that  hung  upon 
the  edge  of  space,  a  monk  served  us  bread  and 
wine  and  omelet.  He  also  brought  the  con- 
soling nargileh,  and  as  we  feasted  and  fattened 
we  looked  down  upon  a  picture  that  can  never 
fade  from  memory. 

If  ever  island  floated,  these  islands  float. 
They  are  the  haunts  of  flying  islanders,  and 
that  is  why  the  air  is  so  still  and  so  restful  and 
so  magical.  On  the  one  hand,  the  sea  and 
sky  lie  down  together,  and  on  the  other  the 
glamour  of  Stamboul  illuminates  the  horizon 
like  a  mirage.  In  the  distance  we  discover  the 
little  boat  returning  for  us.  She  sits  like  a  bird 
upon  the  water,  with  foam-white  tail-feathers 
and  long,  dark  wings  of  smoke.  Think  of 
saying  farewell  to  these  dream-nooks  of  the 
world — think  of  plunging  again  into  new  fields, 
with  the  consciousness  that  you  have,  in  all 


332      A  CRUISE  UNt)ER  THE  CRESCENT. 

human  probability,  seen  the  best,  and  that  one 
experience  laid  so  soon  upon  another  is  sure  to 
deaden  the  flavor  of  both ! 

Like  sea-flowers,  the  islands  seem  to  drift 
aAvay  from  us,  and  in  secret  I  am  half  con- 
vinced that  yonder,  between  sea  and  sky,  lies 
Avalon ;  and  yonder,  within  the  magic  circle  of 
the  waves,  sleep  the  Happy  Isles,  the  Islands 
of  the  Blessed ! 

Chrysopolis !  As  the  day  is  uncommonly  fair 
we  take  a  run  over  to  Asia.  There  is  some- 
thing appetizing  in  the  thought  of  picnicking 
on  another  continent,  and  getting  back  before 
sundown,  so  we  hasten  to  that  famous  Bridge 
of  Boats.  All  the  steamers  start  from  it,  and 
we  select  our  line  with  some  caution;  for  it 
would  not  be  difficult  to  go  astray  in  the  con- 
fusion that  floods  this  thoroughfare  from  dawn 
to  dusk. 

We  steam  directly  across  the  Bosporus  to  the 
Asiatic  coast — that  point  of  land  was  called 
the  Bosporus  (the  Boss-ford) ;  for  it  was  just 
here  that  lo,  transformed  into  a  cow,  swam 
over  from  the  opposite  shore.  A  rock  in  the 
middle  passage,  crowned  with  a  beacon-tower, 
is  called  the  Tower  of  Leander.  Now, 
Leander  swam  the  Hellespont,  and  not  the 
Bosporus;  but  the  Turkish  tale  that  hangs 
thereby  is  more  popular.  Sultan  Mahmoud 
imprisoned  one  of  his  mistresses  in  the  White 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       333 

Tower.  For  this  reason  the  Turks  still  know 
it  as  Kis-Koulissi — the  Tower  of  the  Maiden. 

Scutari,  which  is  quite  a  city  by  itself, 
though  reckoned  a  suburb  of  Constantinople, 
is  of  the  ancient  Persian  origin.  It  was  called 
Chrysopolis  (the  Golden  City),  perhaps  because 
the  Attic  commanders  used  to  levy  a  toll  of 
one-tenth  on  all  the  vessels  and  goods  passing 
by  from  the  Euxine — so  says  Xenophon,  and 
he  ought  to  know ;  for  he  and  his  Greek  auxil- 
iaries made  a  seven  days'  halt  at  Chrysopolis 
on  their  return  from  the  campaign  against 
Cyrus,  and  they  here  disposed  of  their  booty. 
Xenophon  wouldn't  know  the  place  now:  the 
walls  are  down,  and  a  crowd  of  hackmen  await 
the  arrival  of  the  hourly  ferry,  each  man  eager 
to  secure  a  passenger  for  the  great  cemeteries, 
or  the  Hill  of  Boolgoorloo. 

Boolgoorloo!  We  pick  our  carriage  and 
drive  leisurely  through  the  pretty  town.  Ox 
teams  stop  the  way  from  time  to  time;  the 
barbers  sit  under  the  trees  shaving  the  native 
youth — young  fellows  who  seem  to  relish  this 
public  proof  of  their  claim  to  manhood.  Fruit- 
sellers  cry  after  us,  and  we  are  tempted  to  fill 
our  laps  with  cherries  and  strawberries ;  for  it 
is  a  long  pull  to  the  top  of  Boolgoorloo.  We 
drive  as  far  as  we  can,  leave  the  town  behind 
us,  and  are  charmed  with  the  handsome  villas 
of  the  wealthy  Moslems.     Some  of  them  have 

22 


334      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

their  own  little  mosques,  and  a  private 
minaret,  not  much  larger  than  a  smokestack. 
We  pass  through  villages  with  great  fountains 
at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  where  dervishes 
— the  Mohammedan  monks — dip  water  and 
offer  it  to  the  thirsty,  who  await  their  turn  with 
amiable  resignation. 

By  and  by  the  road  tips  up  at  such  an 
uncomfortable  angle  that  we  are  glad  to 
descend  from  the  trap  and  foot  it  to  the  hill- 
top. The  hill  itself  can  boast  little  but  a 
name;  that  name,  Boolgoorloo,  is  not  to  be 
sneezed  at.  I  wonder  what  it  means?  There 
is  a  diminutive  convent  a-top  of  it,  with  a 
couple  of  dervishes,  who  beguile  the  strangers 
into  a  kitchen-garden,  and  then  offer  them  a 
bouquet  of  gilly-flowers,  and  demand  a  back- 
sheesh in  return.  A  grave  in  this  garden  is 
said  to  date  from  the  days  of  Constantine.  As 
it  is  simply  a  hole  in  the  ground,  the  statement 
seems  not  improbable — the  hill  is  much  older 
than  that. 

The  ladies  of  all  lands  flock  to  Boolgoorloo 
and  eat  strawberries.  They  look  at  the  graves 
in  the  convent  garden,  and  some  of  them 
erect  little  sticks  with  a  strip  of  rag  at  half- 
mast,  which  is  a  sure  cure  for  toothache  and 
the  like.  They  wander  among  the  heather, 
that  is  fresh  and  hardy  and  fragrant ;  then  they 
turn  about  on  their  heels  and  take  in   pano- 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       335 

ramie  slices  of  the  landscape,  and  finally  go 
home  with  their  hearts  full  of  satisfaction  and 
their  arms  full  of  flowers. 

But  why  call  up  that  magical  city  over  the 
sea?  It  is  very  splendid  to  look  upon;  and 
yonder  is  Olympus — the  snowy  Olympus  of 
Homer  and  of  all  the  gods.  It  looks  down 
upon  Stamboul  and  the  Euxine,  and  over  upon 
the  desolate  plain  of  Troy,  and  has  a  thousand 
storied  islands  at  its  feet ;  a  great  white  throne 
is  Olympus,  but  the  gods  storm  about  it  no 
longer,  wrought  to  divine  fury.  As  it  was  once 
their  garden,  it  is  now  their  grave — an  im- 
measurable pyramid  of  snow ! 

The  ancient  emperors  had  hunting  palaces 
on  the  slopes  of  Boolgoorloo,  and  down  yonder 
at  the  sea's  edge  is  Kedi-Keni,  where  stood  the 
temple  of  the  gods;  and  there  also  was  a 
palace  and  a  villa  of  Belisarius,  who  ended 
his  days  in  the  tranquil  enjoyment  of  his  divi- 
dends, and  was  not  a  vagrant  with  no  visible 
means  of  support,  as  has  been  slanderously 
stated. 

At  the  base  of  Boolgoorloo  there  is  a  black 
sea  of  cypresses.  The  wind  that  sweeps  over 
it  awakens  a  deep  murmur  that  is  as  the  sound 
of  many  waters.  This  is  the  great  Turkish 
cemetery  of  Scutari.  It  is  said  that  the  entire 
population  of  Constantinople  does  not  exceed  a 
twentieth  part  of  the  dead  that  sleep  imder 


336      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

those  cypresses.  It  is  a  wilderness  of  trees, 
set  so  close  together  that  their  branches  are 
matted  overhead,  and  scarcely  a  ray  of  sun- 
light penetrates  them.  Carriage  roads  wind 
through  the  melancholy  wood.  But  for  these 
dimly-lighted  avenues  one  might  easily  get 
lost  among  the  millions  of  stumbling-blocks 
that  mark  the  graves  beneath. 

Your  Turkish  grave  is  fantastical.  When  it 
is  fresh  and  green  it  glories  in  a  monument 
like  a  hitching-post — round,  high  shouldered, 
with  a  cap  over  all,  and  is  brilliant  in  red  or 
green  paint.  You  will  know  the  male  from 
the  female  by  the  knob  on  it.  Your  male  in 
death,  even  as  in  life,  never  takes  his  fez  off; 
the  fezless  one  is  a  woman ;  the  half-length  is 
a  boy;  they  lie  side  by  side,  never  two  in  a 
grave,  never  put  down  in  layers  as  in  England 
and  other  Christian  countries. 

I  have  seen  the  Turk  in  his  pride  spit  at 
"the  dog  of  a  Christian"  who  was  wandering 
about,  stocking-footed,  through  a  mosque, — a 
mosque  that  was  once  a  church  of  God,  and  not 
of  the  Prophet.  I  have  seen  that  portly 
Moslem  laid  low  in  his  grave  at  Scutari,  and  a 
post  driven  over  his  head, — a  post  of  such 
magnificence  that  in  form  and  feature  it  was 
not  unlike  a  gigantic  schnapps  bottle  overlaid 
with  gold.  His  friends  came  and  took  coffee 
under  the  shadow  of  his  monument,  and  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       337 

world  wag-ged  well;  but  by  and  by  love  that 
perisheth  away  took  coffee  up-town.  The 
tough  thistle  sprang  from  the  bones  of  the 
Turk,  and  the  dust  that  covered  that  sepulchre 
was  never  again  disturbed. 

It  seems  strange  to  find  the  Turks  so  fond  of 
the  shadow  of  death — if  I  may  so  call  the 
gloomy  groves  of  Scutari — and  yet  so  neglect- 
ful of  their  dead.  They  will  swarm  to  the 
cemetery  and  spend  the  whole  day  in  eating, 
drinking,  and  smoking — reveling  in  the  midst 
of  the  tombs.  They  will  invite  one  another 
from  grave  to  grave,  and  present  coffee  and 
pipes  in  the  most  festive  manner.  Indeed, 
you  have  only  to  knock  at  a  headstone,  and 
you  are  sure  of  a  warm  welcome.  But  they 
will  not  pluck  the  rank  weeds  that  flourish  in 
that  fattening  soil,  nor  set  up  the  monument 
that  staggers  and  is  a  shame  to  them ;  they  will 
not  even  turn  out  the  jack  or  jenny  that  stands 
knee-deep  in  the  loam,  and  rubs  an  ear  against 
the  wooden  fez  of  the  late  head  of  the  family. 

All  through  the  dark  valley  there  are  small 
cafds,  thronged  with  weary  pilgrims,  who  thus 
cheer  their  solitary  journey  to  the  tomb. 
There  are  strolling  minstrels  also,  who  enter- 
tain the  mourners  with  the  poems  of  Hafiz,  and 
dancers  with  a  dance  of  death  that  gives 
delight  to  the  living. 

Beggars  line  the  way — ^Turkish  atrocities  not 


33^      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

easily  to  be  recognized  as  human.  I  saw  three 
blind  men  sitting  in  a  row,  shoulder  to 
shoulder;  their  legs  were  crossed  in  the  dust 
of  the  roadside;  their  hands  were  raised  in 
supplication,  and  their  heads  lolled  upon  their 
shoulders  as  they  rocked  their  bodies  to  and 
fro,  and  sang  a  pitiful  terso.  A  dish  in  front 
of  them  received  from  time  to  time  a  small 
tribute  of  copper;  but  the  old  men  sang  on, 
oblivious  of  the  idlers  who  lingered  near  them, 
oblivious  of  all  things  earthly — if  their  withered 
faces  did  not  belie  them.  Again  I  could  think 
only  of  those  blinded  quail  who  pipe  night  and 
day  in  their  cages,  and  at  whose  call  the  free 
birds  gather — but  who  knows  of  what  the  blind 
quail  in  his  cage  is  singing? 

There  is  one  tomb  at  Scutari  that  is  more 
splendid  than  all  the  others.  A  canopy,  sup- 
ported by  six  columns,  covers  it,  and  beneath 
it  lie  the  remains  of  Sultan  Mahmoud's  favorite 
mare. 

When  the  coffee  is  cold  and  the  pipes  stale 
we  turn  from  the  dusky  valleys  of  cypress,  and, 
as  the  desolation  of  the  place  grows  more  and 
more  oppressive,  I  am  reminded  of  the  Otto- 
man curse,  which  seems  to  have  been  fulfilled 
to  the  uttermost  in  this  populous  city  of 
mortality — you  remember  it? — "May  jackasses 
bray  on  the  graves  of  your  ancestors!" 

Not  far  away  is  another  burial-ground,  vastly 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       339 

different  in  all  particulars.  It  is  open  to  the 
sunshine — a  green  lawn  sloping  to  the  sea,  and 
planted  with  roses  and  willows  and  the  yew. 
The  white  stones  glisten  among  the  foliage; 
everything  is  as  trim  and  tidy  and  decent- 
looking  as  one  wishes  it  to  be.  There  are 
costly  tombs  and  modest  ones,  and  in  the  centre 
is  a  memorial  column  with  sculptured  angels 
supporting  it ;  but  there  is  a  billowy  waste  of 
green  mounds  with  no  stones  to  tell  their  tale, 
and  there  sleep  8,000  nameless  dead  who  died 
for  England  in  that  terrible  Crimean  War. 

There  are  rows  of  graves  with  simple  head- 
stones, on  which  are  recorded  a  few  lines  full 
of  agony.  You  read  again  and  again  these 
inscriptions  in  memory  of  young  officers,  with 
ages  ranging  from  eighteen  to  twenty-eight 
years,  who  bravely  fell  at  this  or  that  battle,  or 
wasted  in  the  hospital,  or  who  died  at  sea. 
These  stones  are  usually  "erected  by  his  com- 
rades," and  they  all  lie  within  sight  of  that 
hospital,  now  a  barrack,  where  Florence  Night- 
ingale did  her  labor  of  love. 

The  waning  light  of  the  afternoon  sleeps  on 
that  hallowed  slope ;  the  waves  sing  below  it. 
The  islands  hang  like  clouds  upon  the  face  of 
the  waters,  and  Stamboiil  unveils  her  splen- 
dor, which  is  mirrored  in  the  tranquil  sea. 
Turning  from  all  this  sensuous  beauty,  my  eye 
falls  upon  a   solitary  slab;    it  bears  in  bold 


340      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

relief  an  inscription  that  takes  me  by  storm.  I 
think  of  the  flower  of  England,  young-,  brave, 
impetuous,  hurled  upon  the  fire  of  the  enemy 
and  ignominiously  sacrificed;  and  I  read  again 
that  last  appeal  of  one  of  those  ill-fated  lads, 
and  I  believe  that  such  a  prayer  will  not  pass 
unheeded — it  is  only  this:  "I  am  Thine — save 
me!" 


XV. 

THE  SULTAN  GOES  TO  MOSQUE. 

"The  Shadow  of  God!"  It  is  high  noon  of 
a  Friday,  the  Sabbath  of  the  Turks.  The 
Sultan  goes  to  mosque  at  twelve  sharp ;  but  as 
yet  (five  minutes  before  the  hour)  we  are 
unable  to  ascertain  whether  he  goes  by  sea  or 
land,  or  which  of  the  royal  mosques  he  deigns 
to  honor  with  his  august  visitation.  The 
Sultan  is  the  Pope  of  the  Mohammedans ;  he  is 
the  head  and  front  of  their  faith,  and  when 
they  take  up  arms  in  his  defense  they  are  fight- 
ing the  good  fight.  It  is  a  religious  war,  in 
which  the  poor  fellows  will  perish  with 
enthusiasm ;  for  they  also  believe  that  the  soul 
of  every  one  who  falls  in  battle  is  translated 
immediately  to  the  seventh  heaven  of  eternal 
bliss. 

We  are  informed  that  His  Awful  Highness 
never  decides  until  the  last  moment  which 
mosque  he  will  visit.  This  is  partly  caprice, 
partly  a  precaution;  for  who  knows  at  what 
moment  some  mad  wag  may  send  a  charmed 
bullet  whizzing  through  the  imperial  brain? 
If  you  would  see  "The  Shadow  of  God"— the 
successor  of  Mohammed — set  forth  on  his 
341 


342      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

weekly  visitation,  you  must  secure  your  car- 
riage, drive  to  the  gates  of  the  favorite  palace 
on  the  Bosporus,  and  there  await  the  moment 
when  the  "Shadow"  mounts  his  superb  steed, 
and  rides  away,  surrounded  by  a  small  army; 
or  follow  the  royal  barge,  and  reach  the 
mosque  by  land  in  season  to  see  him  arrive  by 
water. 

For  a  whole  hour  we  sat  under  the  shade  of 
the  trees  in  front  of  the  palace;  a  thousand 
troops  were  lounging  in  easy  attitudes, 
exchanging  slang  and  small  talk  with  the 
swarms  of  beggars  that  infested  the  place.  A 
large  number  of  high  officials  rode  to  and  fro 
in  raiment  that  would  make  the  fortune  of 
any  manager  who  could  reproduce  it  in  some 
Eastern  extravaganza.  The  horses,  of  pure 
Arabian  blood,  seemed  mad  with  vanity,  and 
were  as  coquettish  and  affected  as  young  girls. 
The  harem  was  well  represented.  A  line  of 
handsome  broughams  manned  with  eunuchs, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  passed  up 
and  down  the  avenue,  displaying  the  highly 
artificial  loveliness  of  the  Circassian  and 
Georgian  hoiiris,  who  are  the  wives  of  the  Sul- 
tan. This  is  as  near  a  view  as  they  ever  get 
of  the  great  world  about  them,  and  with  what 
eyes  they  look  upon  it — these  beautiful 
odalisques ! 

We  recognized  all  our  steamer  friends,  and 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       343 

caught  glimpses  of  faces  that  we  had  grown 
familiar  with  in  other  ports,  but  had  missed  for 
many  a  day.  All  the  world  comes  forth  to 
gaze  when  the  Sultan  goes  to  mosque. 

As  the  hour  of  noon  drew  near  there  was  a 
noticeable  tremor  of  anticipation  everywhere 
visible.  Even  the  swarthy  infantry — rough- 
looking  fellows  they  are — grew  impatient,  and 
turned  again  and  again  toward  the  palace 
gates,  where  the  dignitaries  of  the  court  were 
stationed.  The  avenue  was  cleared  of  pedes- 
trians and  vehicles — or  rather  a  way  was 
opened  through  the  centre — and  we  were 
suffered  to  sit  in  our  high  carriage  at  the  road- 
side in  the  best  possible  position.  The  retinue 
that  awaited  the  arrival  of  His  Majesty  was 
composed  of  the  handsomest,  haughtiest,  and 
most  distinguished-looking  gentlemen  that  can 
be  imagined.  The  spectacle  was,  of  course, 
highly  theatrical,  but  none  the  less  interesting 
or  agreeable  for  that  reason. 

The  excitement  increased.  Suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  it,  the  officials  who  had  been  waiting 
at  the  palace  gates,  where  also  the  Sultan's 
charger,  superbly  caparisoned,  was  led  to  and 
fro, — suddenly  and  without  a  moment's  warn- 
ing the  soldiers  presented  arms,  and  then  the 
officials  dashed  up  the  street,  followed  by  the 
harem  and  the  mob,  or  so  much  of  it  as  was  on 
wheels,  and  capable  of  keeping  pace  with  the 


344      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

fljdng  officials.  The  army  retreated,  the  ave- 
nues were  deserted  in  a  very  few  moments ;  for 
the  Sultan  had  gone  to  mosque  by  water. 

The  carriages  of  the  harem  were  our  only 
guides.  We  got  in  their  wake,  and  drove 
rapidly  through  narrow,  crooked  and  ill-paved 
streets,  following  the  shores  of  the  Bosporus, 
but  unable  to  get  even  a  glimpse  of  it.  Hav- 
ing come  at  last  to  the  water's  edge,  our  drago- 
man hastened  to  conduct  us  into  an  upper 
chamber  of  a  Greek  caf^,  where  we  had  a  row 
of  windows  opening  upon  the  Bosporus,  and 
bearing  directly  upon  the  quay  of  the  mosque 
not  a  stone's  throw  from  us. 

We  were  singularly  fortunate ;  for  below  us, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  the  crowd  grew 
denser  every  moment,  and  many  a  foreign 
face  was  recognizable  by  reason  of  its  agonized 
and  despairing  expression.  Coffee  and  pipes 
were  brought,  not  forgetting  the  glass  of  rose- 
water,  with  which  we  at  first  moistened  our 
lips.  Meanwhile,  the  officials  passed  into  the 
quay,  and  stood  in  a  long  line  against  the 
fagade  of  the  mosque.  They  were  all  in 
European  dress,  with  the  exception  of  the  fez, 
and  looked,  as  they  stood  there  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  not  unlike  an  overgrown  military 
school  on  drill. 

A  caique  shortly  arrived  with  the  royal  prop- 
erties.       Splendid      Persian      carpets      were 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.       345 

unrolled,  reaching  from  the  steps  at  the 
water's  edge  across  the  quay  into  the  mosque; 
others — the  prayer-carpets,  etc., — were  taken 
within  the  mosque.  Caiques  began  to  drift 
in  from  the  Bosporus,  but  they  were  kept  at  a 
respectful  distance  by  the  water  police.  A 
band  of  instruments  stationed  itself  under  our 
windows,  and  awaited  the  arrival  of  His 
Mightiness. 

Then  the  thunder  of  cannon  was  heard  roll- 
ing over  the  water.  The  six  ironclads  that 
were  lying  abreast  of  the  palace  were  covered 
with  flags,  the  yards  were  manned,  and  as  the 
royal  caique  swept  under  them,  the  great  gfuns 
belched  forth  their  avalanches  of  smoke  and 
fury,  and  the  crews  of  the  warships  one  after 
another  rent  the  air  with  lusty  cheers.  It  was 
extremely  exciting;  I  felt  the  little  shivers 
running  up  and  down  my  spine. 

The  caiques,  as  we  saw  them  down  the 
Bosporus,  looked  like  huge  sea-birds  fl)nng 
low,  with  wings  just  dipping  in  the  water.  In 
the  centre  the  royal  barge  of  white  and  gold 
flashed  gloriously  in  the  sunshine.  It  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  barge  of  the  Sultan's  eldest  son. 
The  chief  officers  of  the  royal  family  sur- 
rounded the  state  barges  with  their  smaller 
caiques.  The  band  struck  up  under  our  win- 
dow; the  wild,  fanatical  Turkish  music  is 
calculated   to   goad  one  to    frenzy;    there  is 


346     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

something  devilish  in  it,  and  therefore  some- 
thing fascinating.  Two  of  the  band  men  held 
each  aloft  a  pole,  on  the  top  of  which  was  a 
crescent  and  a  multitude  of  scarlet  tassels  and 
brazen  bells,  and  these  were  whirled  dizzily 
round  and  round  so  long  as  the  music  lasted. 

With  the  thunder  of  cannon,  and  the  chorus  of 
cheers  from  the  last  of  the  ironclads,  came  the 
magnificent  Sultan  to  mosque.  His  gilded 
caique^  a.  hundred  feet  in  length,  was  as  grace- 
ful as  an  ostrich  feather.  Under  a  canopy  of 
scarlet  velvet,  spangled  and  heavily  fringed 
with  gold,  the  Sultan  sat  like  an  idol ;  and  at 
his  feet,  with  their  hands  spread  palms  down 
upon  their  knees,  and  their  heads  bowed  low, 
knelt  the  Vizier  and  Grand- Vizier  in  silent 
adoration.  Six-and-twenty  picked  rowers — 
men  as  lithe  as  serpents  and  as  agile  as  pan- 
thers, clad  in  white,  and  moving  with  marvel- 
ous precision — plunged  upon  their  golden  oars. 

These  wonderful  oarsmen  actually  went  down 
upon  their  knees,  and  made  a  profound  obei- 
sance before  their  lord  and  master,  at  the  same 
moment  throwing  their  oar-blades  high  into 
the  air;  then,  with  a  tremendous  sweep  they 
sprang  up  and  struck  their  oars  into  the  sea, 
while  the  tips  flashed  in  an  arch  of  flame. 
Recovering  themselves,  the  graceful  oarsmen 
crept  forward,  crouching  like  wild  beasts  on 
the  alert,    fairly  groveling  at  the  feet  of  the 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      347 

Sultan.  It  was  altogether  a  very  extraordinary 
performance,  and  the  great  barge  shot  forward 
with  astonishing  rapidity,  and  swam  up  to  the 
steps  of  the  mosque  in  the  most  brilliant  and 
effective  manner. 

When  the  barge  touched  the  quay,  the 
officials  who  awaited  His  Supreme  Highness 
stooped,  took  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the  Sul- 
tan, kissed  it,  touched  it  to  their  foreheads  and 
their  breasts.  The  dust  was,  of  course,  invis- 
ible, but  the  ceremonial  was  significant.  As 
the  royal  foot  was  placed  upon  the  steps,  the 
dignitaries  touched  their  foreheads  to  the 
ground  and  showed  every  mark  of  humility. 
His  Terrific  Mightiness  passed  haughtily  into 
the  mosque,  and  the  spectacle  was  suspended. 
Not  the  slightest  notice  was  taken  of  the  son 
and  heir  to  the  throne;  for  in  this  wise  the 
supreme  glory  due  to  the  father  might  be 
lessened. 

Everybody  was  at  liberty  to  do  as  he  pleased. 
We  became  exceedingly  democratic,  and  were 
admitted  to  a  private  inspection  of  the  royal 
barges.  Before  the  royal  party  had  arrived  at 
the  mosque,  orders  came  from  some  official 
near  us  that  the  windows  of  our  caf^  must  be 
closed.  We  were  obliged  to  comply,  though 
most  reluctantly,  since  it  was  an  affair  in  which 
our  safety  and  the  security  of  our  host 
depended;    but   we  were    reckless  enough   to 


348     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

throw  up  the  window  at  the  last  moment, 
when  all  attention  was  directed  toward  the 
Sultan,  and  so  we  lost  nothing  but  a  little  fresh 
air  through  the  fear  or  fanaticism  of  the 
authorities.  We  could  not  ascertain  the  real 
cause  of  this  interference  with  our  comfort  and 
pleasure,  but  were  told  it  was  probably  because 
it  is  not  safe,  or  was  not,  for  Abdul-Aziz  to 
appear  in  public;  and  every  precaution  was 
taken  to  keep  the  route  of  his  journeys  to  the 
mosque  a  secret,  as  well  as  to  have  an  eye 
upon  the  windows  and  housetops  in  the 
vicinity,  lest  he  might  be  shot  from  some 
ambuscade. 

After  the  procession  had  returned  from  the 
mosque  on  the  occasion  of  which  I  write,  the 
Sultan  repaired  to  his  palace,  and  three  days 
later  the  unhappy  wretch  lay  in  the  royal 
chamber  drowned  in  his  own  blood!  When 
the  Sultan  went  to  mosque  that  day  he  said  the 
last  prayer  of  his  life,  and  the  son  that  followed 
him  was  scarcely  more  fortunate  than  his 
miserable  and  miserly  sire. 

The  last  farewell !  From  the  lofty  tower  of 
Galata  I  had  my  last  view  of  the  City  of  the 
Sultan.  Galata  was  settled  early  in  the  thir- 
teenth century,  by  a  Genoese  colony.  The 
Genoese  were  allowed  to  throw  a  wall  about 
it,  and  to  govern  it  by  the  laws  of  the  republic. 
They  built  a  high  tower  in  the  midst  of  it,  and 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     349 

looked  out  upon  the  world  with  so  much  of 
pride  that,  of  course,  they  had  their  fall.  The 
walls  went  down  with  them.  The  great  tower 
alone  remains,  and  from  its  lofty  summit  a 
watch  is  continually  on  the  lookout  for  smoke ; 
this  is  the  fire-alarm  that  floats  from  the  flag- 
staff overhead — a  silent  and  ineffectual  signal. 

There  is  a  caf^  in  the  top  of  the  tower.  You 
sit  in  the  deep  windows  thereof  and  look  over 
into  Asia,  with  all  Europe  at  your  back. 
Beneath  you  thousands  of  Christians  have  been 
martyred  for  Christ's  sake.  There  are  a  dozen 
churches — Greek  and  Latin — that  have  been 
turned  into  mosques.  To-day,  at  any  moment, 
if  the  Moslem  fanatics  were  to  rise,  they  could 
without  difficulty  sweep  all  the  unbelievers 
from  the  face  of  this  part  of  the  earth. 

You  think  of  this  as  your  eye  scans  the 
ravishing  picture.  You  float  like  a  dove  over 
the  enchanting  city.  You  note  the  points  with 
which  you  have  grown  familiar — the  deep 
shadows  of  the  funereal  cypresses ;  the  crescents 
that  sparkle  in  the  sunshine  from  the  peaks  of 
slender  minarets ;  the  golden  flood  that  divides 
the  city,  and  yet  clasps  it  in  a  warm  embrace ; 
the  sea  beyond,  and  the  sea  islands. 

The  mists  of  the  evening  gather  at  sunset ;  a 
luminous  haze  is  spread  over  the  bewildering 
landscape,  and  it  is  more  fairy-like  and  unreal 
than  ever.     You  look    across  the  world,   and 

23 


4 


350     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

pass  from  hill  to  hill,  on  to  the  remote  horizon ; 
and  there,  over  against  the  sunset,  across  the 
broad  disc  of  splendid  fire,  you  see  the  dark 
outlines  of  a  fort,  one  of  the  chief  strongholds 
of  Constantinople;  and  out  of  the  midst  of 
cannon  and  shot  and  shell  springs  the  sharp, 
spear-like  minaret. 

You  will  find  that  these  Turks  are  always 
backed  by  their  religion.  I  believe  there  is  no 
exception  to  this  rule.  Every  soldier  of  the 
Sultan  carries  a  mosque  in  his  own  heart,  and 
the  bullet  that  pierces  that  heart  opens  the 
gates  of  Paradise  to  the  late  Bashi-Bazouk.  I 
thought  of  this  with  a  slight  chill,  and  was  glad 
when  they  said  unto  me,  "Let  us  arise  and  go 
hence." 


XVI. 

OUT  OP  THE  EAST. 

Homeward  bound!  The  very  same  ship 
that  brought  us  over  has  been  lying  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn  all  these  eventful 
days.  We  board  her,  a  half-dozen  of  us,  and 
are  warmly  greeted  by  the  officers  and  wel- 
comed by  every  soul  on  board.  How  whole- 
some a  thing  is  a  little  show  of  fellowship  in  a 
strange  and  far-away  land !  I  look  for  my  old 
stateroom,  and  find  it  just  as  I  left  it,  secured 
to  me  by  the  steward,  who  is  at  my  elbow, 
oddly  enough,  and  who  receives  a  tip,  which 
makes  us  both  smile  blandly. 

We  are  much  scattered — I  mean  the  com- 
pany of  the  last  sea-voyage.  Some  have  gone 
up  the  Danube,  some  to  Greece.  The  Eton 
boy,  the  life  of  the  ship,  has  returned  to  the 
scenes  of  his  early  triumphs,  and  we  mourn 
over  him  as  the  only  piece  of  unaffected 
humanity  that  it  has  been  our  lot  to  meet  with 
in  the  East.  In  the  evening  we  steam  through 
the  Dardanelles,  and  are  rather  glad  that  it 
looks  black  and  stormy.  We  hear  the  gods 
growling  on  distant  Olympus;  we  see  the 
green  and  red  lights  on  shore;   pass  ghostly 

351 


352      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

'ships  without  exchanging  greetings  of  any 
sort;  and,  in  truth,  the  Hellespont  to-night 
seems  haunted  by  fleets  of  "Flying  Dutch- 
men. ' ' 

Leaves  from  a  log!  Windy  and  rough  all 
day;  dreary,  barren  islands  lie  about  us,  but 
no  one  cares  to  look  at  them  a  second  time.  It 
is  hard  to  believe  that  these  desolate  rocks  are 
the  landmarks  of  the  Iliad,  the  same  that 
interested  us  so  deeply  when  we  first  sighted 
them.  Can  it  be  possible  that  all  Oriental 
experiences  are  like  the  first  breath  of  a  per- 
fume, or  the  first  bite  of  a  fruit,  never  to  be 
repeated  successfully? 

At  7.00  p.  m.  we  arrive  at  Syra.  If  the 
captain  were  to  come  down  the  deck  shouting^ 
"Syra;  change  boats  for  Piraeus  and  Athens!" 
it  would  not  seem  at  all  out  of  place.  All 
romance  seems  to  have  evaporated,  now  that 
travel  is  so  easy  and  so  universal.  The  daily 
trains  for  Jerusalem  will  start  in  a  little  while, 
and  already  you  can  go  up  the  Nile  by  rail  for 
hundreds  of  miles. 

Our  family  circle  is  again  broken.  In  the 
delicious  dusk  we  wave  adieu  over  the  delicious 
sea,  and  an  hour  later  we  are  hurried  out  of 
sight  and  hearing  in  the  tranquil  night.  The 
day  following  we  hug  the  Greek  coast,  or  pick 
our  way  among  the  isles  of  Greece,  and  wonder 
what  Byron  found  in   them   to  estrange    his 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.     353 

heart  from  England.  The  mountains  are  fine 
enough,  but  much  of  the  land  is  as  monotonous 
as  the  sea  itself.  As  for  the  poetry  and  the 
politics  of  the  people,  I  have  nothing  to  say  of 
them. 

Corfu!  At  2.00  p.m.  to-day  (the  third  out  of 
Constantinople)  we  drew  into  the  picturesque 
harbor  of  Corfu.  Here,  the  headquarters  of 
the  Ionian  Islands,  five-and-twenty  thousand 
inhabitants  live  a  semi-pastoral  life — yachting, 
hunting,  and  boring  time  to  death.  The  chief 
fort  of  the  harbor,  behind  which  the  city  tries 
to  hide  itself,  is  as  pretty  as  a  cork  model. 
Indeed,  it  looks  more  like  a  terraced  garden, 
with  its  sloping  lawns,  its  cypresses,  and 
ornamental  batteries,  than  anything  less 
pleasurable. 

How  odd  it  seems  when  we  think  that  the 
Corinthians  colonized  here,  B.  C.  734;  that 
their  increasing  power  was  one  of  the  chief 
causes  of  the  Peloponnesian  war;  that  the 
Venetians  held  the  island  in  the  Middle  Ages 
— you  can  see  maps  and  models  of  it  in  the 
Arsenal  at  Venice;  that  the  English  ruled  it 
from  18 18  to  1863,  when  they  ceded  it  to  the 
Greeks!  And  yet  to-day  it  seems  like  the  least 
harmful  of  watering-places — a  mere  summer 
resort,  tranquil  to  the  verge  of  stupidity. 
But  there  are  other  associations  that  must  not 
be  forgotten.     That  humped  island  under  the 


354     A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

tableland  of  Kanoni,  the  islet  Pondikonissi,  is 
the  Phoenician  ship  that  brought  Ulysses  to 
Ithaca,  and  was  turned  to  stone.  At  the 
mouth  of  a  brook  near  at  hand  is  the  spot 
where  Ulysses  was  cast  ashore,  and  where  he 
met  the  Princess  Nausicaa,  as  related  in  Book 
VI.  of  the  Odyssey.  Those  are  the  Albanian 
Mountains  yonder,  and  here  are  some  pure 
Greeks  just  boarding  us,  ticketed  for  Triest. 
The  lady,  very  slender  and  not  bad-looking, 
has  stilts  on  her  slippers;  her  son  is  of  the 
color  of  licorice  water,  and  not  a  bad  type  of 
the  degenerate  race.  We  are  overrun  with 
these  Greeks ;  their  language  is  heard  in  every 
part  of  the  ship.  It  sounds  like  a  fair  imitation 
of  the  ancient  tongue.  Much  respect  is  paid  a 
Greek  bishop,  who  lounges  in  the  easiest  chair 
on  deck,  and  plays  with  his  beads  from  morn- 
ing till  night. 

Up  the  Adriatic!  Rounding  a  point  of 
Albania,  we  enter  the  Adriatic,  and  find  it 
brighter,  bluer  and  more  tranquil  than  the  sea 
of  yesterday.  The  Dalmatian  Islands  lie  on 
the  one  hand,  misty  mountains  upon  the 
other.  We  have  been  talking  of  Montenegro, 
sailing  under  its  shadow,  and  of  the  trouble- 
some days  that  multiply  as  we  steam  onward 
toward  Triest.  It  is  a  time  for  meditation  on 
the  past;  and  as  I  recall  my  experiences  in  the 
East,  I  am  surprised  to  find  how  little  there  is 


A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT.      355 

that  one  cares  to  forget,  or  can  afford  to, 
either.  There  are  hours  that  bore  you,  many 
of  them,  and  people  who  are  an  annoyance; 
but  how  easy  it  is  to  forgive  a  negative  injury 
when  the  cause  is  removed!  It  is  like  phys- 
ical pain :  forgotten  as  soon  as  it  ceases. 

Triest!  All  the  glorious  morning  we  skirt 
the  olive-clad  coast  of  Istria,  counting  the  white 
villages  on  our  fingers.  Fleets  of  scarlet  and 
orange-tinted  sails  are  on  the  sea,  a  foretaste  of 
the  Venetian  lagoon.  Triest,  backed  by 
splendid  hills,  rises  before  us,  and  we  drop 
anchor  in  the  cosy  and  well-filled  harbor  at  the 
end  of  a  prosperous  voyage. 

My  first  expedition  was  to  the  Chateau  of 
Mirimar,  the  former  home  of  the  unfortunate 
Maximilian  of  Mexico.  The  road  follows  the 
shore  just  within  reach  of  the  spray,  and  ends 
in  a  lovely  garden  that  loses  itself  among  high 
and  very  picturesque  hills.  The  chateau,  built 
upon  a  low  promontory,  and  with  the  windows 
on  three  sides  of  it  opening  directly  upon  the 
sea,  is  an  ideal  villa,  crowded  with  quaint  and 
beautiful  wares.  The  custodian,  who  alone 
seems  to  occupy  it,  shows  the  visitor  through 
suites  of  rooms,  points  out  the  royal  portraits, 
and  calls  attention  to  the  rich  furniture  with 
an  indifferent  air,  as  if  he  were  rather  tired  of 
his  profession. 

The  chambers  occupied  by  "Max" — so  the 


custodian  called  the 

late    Emperor — are 

as     dainty    as    the 

house   of    a    bride. 

-    ■     Everything    is    in 

perfect  taste,    and,   judging 

from  the    atmosphere    that 

is    still    preserved,    the    ill- 

fated  man  who  made 

*  himself  this  charm- 

T  ing  home  by  the   sea  must   have 

——  been  a  scholar  of  much  refinement, 
X~         —       one  who  would  have  preferred  the 
(  cloistered  seclusion  of  his  study  to  any  honors 
^  that  a  throne  might  bring  him.  The  apartments 
of  the   Empress  —  "poor"  Carlotta!  —  are    in 
strange  contrast  to  the  library  and  the  cell-like 
sleeping-room  of  her  husband.  Whether  she  has 
taken  away  the   charm  with  her,  or  whether 
the  gaudy  and  unrestful  boudoirs  never  pos- 
sessed any,  I  know  not,  but  it  is  certain  that 
all  the  wholesome  influences  of  Mirimar,  as  it 
now   stands,   are  gathered  in  his  half  of  the 
house.      The   gardens    are    a     wilderness    of 
beauty.     I  should  say  that  a  home  such  as  this 
356 


358      A  CRUISE  UNDER  THE  CRESCENT. 

must  have  been  worth  twenty  empires.  It  is  a 
pity  that  there  is  no  one  to  enjoy  it,  save  the 
tourist,  who  lounges  about  the  place  for  a 
couple  of  hours,  oppressed  with  sad  memories 
of  the  former  occupants. 

Triest  has  its  Roman  antiquities.  They 
begin  in  the  columns  of  the  cathedral  on  the 
hill,  and  end  in  the  arch  by  the  sea.  But  oh ! 
how  fresh  these  Roman  ruins  seem  to  us  after 
the  temples  of  old  Egypt ! 

Having  dined  in  a  beer  shop  and  taken  beer 
in  a  chop  house  with  the  jolly  ' '  Doctor' '  of  our 
good  ship  Diana;  having  sat  oiit  the  evening 
over  coflEee  and  late  papers,  to  the  music  of 
numerous  street-musicians,  and  heard  the  wind 
rise  and  the  rain  fall  with  chagrin,  I  drop 
down  to  the  docks  again,  and  take  the  boat 
for  Venice.  One  night  more  in  the  cradle  of 
the  deep,  and  at  dawn  the  sky  breaks,  and  out 
of  the  tranquil  bosom  of  the  lagoon  rise  the 
towers,  the  domes,  the  pale  walls,  the  floating 
gardens  that  I  have  grown  so  familiar  with. 

Yea  verily!  out  of  the  East  I  come  to  the 
watery  gates  of  this  sad  bride  of  the  sea,  and 
find  a  welcome  that  has  been  awaiting  me  a 
whole,  long,  glorious  year. 

THE   END. 


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